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THE 



BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN, 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS, 



FIELD OF WATERLOO, 



AND OTHEB POEM& 



BY 



SIR WALTER SCOTT, Bart. 



ROBERT CADELL, EDINBURGH. 

M.DCCC. XXXVI. 




VOTKRUROH : 
PATNTCD BY T. CONSTABLJ!, 1, THISTLE 8TRBKT. 



CONTENTS. 



Prkfacb to tbb Bridai. or TRijiiuiAur, '^®T 

Th» BriDAI. OF TrTKRJIAIW, ...,.'* a 

InTROOUCTIOW, ... * * * ' 11 

.Canto I * ' * ' * II 

Canton. . . . : Z 

Canto III , , \ ' ' « 

CoNCLusiow, ....**'*' go 

Appindix TO THK Bridal OF TrwrmIuh/ '. '. *. 103 

Harold THB Dauntlzss, 

Introduction, . * * *. ' * ,,_ 

Cantol. . ". ]]l 

^*«"- •..*!!.''*' iJ? 

Canto III *. *. ; 2 

Canto IV , • !; 

CantoV \ : m 

CantoVI IM 

Conclusion, ... * ' iS 

Tbb FiKLD of Watkrloo, 2^^ 

Conclusion, • • • i . ! ! * 227 

APPBNDIX TO THB PlJBLD OF WATBBLOO, . ! ! ' 231 



SONGS AND MISCELLANIES. 

Saint Clond, gg- 

Romance of Dunoia, ••..•.,, 230 

The Troubadour, 1 *• ! 241 

Prom the French, 242 



IV OONTBNTS. 

TheBeiolre, . . ; 242 

The Poacher, 245 

Epitaph, designed for a Monument in Lichfield Cathedral, at 

the Buriai-Place of the Family of Miss Seward, 260 

Epitaph on Mn. Erskine 251 

Prologue to Mios Baillie's Play of the Family Legend, 252 

Mr. Kemble's Farewell Address on taking leare of the Edin- 

buigh Stage, 254 

Epilogue to the Appeal, 257 



First collsctbi) in thb Author's Porticai. Works, 
Edition op 1834. 

Epilogue to the Drama founded on St Ronan's Well, 269 

EpUogue, 263 

Inscription for the Monument of the Ber. George Scott, 264 

The Bannatyne Club, 265 

Ballads from thb Gkrjian. 

William and Helen, 271 

Frederick and Alice, 284 

The Battle of Sempach, 288 

The Noble MoriDger, 297 



PREFACE 
TO THE FIRST EDITION. 

[1818.] 



In the Edinburgh Annual BaoiSTBR forthe year 1809, 
Three Fng;meiit8 were inserted, written in imitation of 
liring Poeta. It must have been apparent, that, by these 
pfolusiona, nothing burlesque, or disrespectful to the au- 
thors, was intended, but that they were offered to the 
public as serious, though certainly very im])erfect, imi- 
tations of that style of composition, by which each of the 
writers is supposed to be distinguished. ' As these exer- 
cises attracted a greater degree of attention than the au- 
thor anticipated, he has been induced to complete one 
of them, and present it as a sqNuate publication.^ 

1 [Sir Walter Soott, in hit Introduction to the Lord of the Iilei^ 
ULjn,-^" Being much urged by my intimate friend, now unhappily 
no more, William Enkine, I agreed to write the little romantic tale 
called the ' Bridal of Triermain ;* but it was on the oondition, that 
he should make no aeriooB eflfort to disown the composition, if re- 
port ahottld lay it at his door. As he was more than suspected of 
a taste for poetry, and as I took care, in sereral places, to mix 
something which might resemble (as fior as was in my power) my 
ftirod's feeling and manner, the train easily cangh^ and two 

A 



2 FRKFACB TO 

It is not in this place that an examination of the works 
of the master whom he has here adopted as his model, 
can, with propriety, be introduced ; since his general ac- 
quiescence in the favourable sui&age of the public must 
necessarily be inferred from the attempt he has now 
made. He is induced, by the nature of his subject, to 
offer a few remarks on what has been called romantic 
POETRY ; — the popularity of which has been revived in * 
the present day, under the auspices, and by the unpar&l- 
lelled success, of one individual. 

The original purpose of poetry is either religious or 
histoiical, or, as must frequently happen, a mixture of 
both. To modem readers, the poems of Homer have 
many of the features of pure romance ; but in the esti- 
mation of his contemporaries, they probably derived their 
chief value from their supposed historical authenticity. 
The same may be generally said of the poetry of all early 
ages. The marvels and miracles which the poet blends 
with his song, do not exceed in number or extravagance 
the figments of the historians of the same period of so- 
ciety ; and, indeed, the difference betwixt poetry and 
prose, as the vehicles of historical truth, is always of late 
introduction. Poets, under various denominations of 
Bards, Scalds, Chroniclers, and so forth, are the first his- 
torians of all nations. Their intention is to relate the 
events they have witnessed, or the traditions that have 
reached them ; and they clothe the relation in rhyme, 
merely as the means of rendering it more solemn in the 
narrative, or more easily committed to memory. But as 
the poetical historian improves in the art of convey^ing 

Iarf{e editions were sold. A third being called for. Lord Kined- 
der became unwilling to aid any longer a deception which was 
going farther than he expected or desired, and the real author's 
name was given."] 



TUB BBIDAL OP TRIERAIAIN. 9 

infonnation, tiie aufhenticitj of his narrative una? oida- 
bljr decline!. He is tempted to dilate and dwell upon 
the events that are interesting to his imagination, and, 
consdoos how indifferent his audience is to the naked 
truth of his poem, his history gradually becomes a ro- 
manoe. 

It is in this situation that those epics are found, which 
have been generally regarded the standards of poetry ; 
and it has happened somewhat strangely, that the mo- 
dems have pointed out as the characteristics and pecu- 
liar excellences of narrative poetry, the very circum- 
stances which the authors themselves adopted, only be- 
cause their art involved the duties of the historian as 
well as the poet. It cannot be believed, for example, 
that Homer selected the siege of Troy as the most ap- 
propriate subject for poetry ; his purpose was to write 
the early history of his country ; the event he has cho- 
sen, though not very fhiitful in varied incident, nor per- 
fectly well adapted for poetry, was nevertheless combin- 
ed with traditionary and genealogical anecdotes ex- 
tremely interesting to those who were to listen to him ; 
and this he has adorned by the exertions of a genius, 
which, if it has been equalled, has certainly been never 
surpassed. It was not till comparatively a late period 
that the general accuracy of his narrative, or his purpose 
in composing it, was brought into question. Aoxtt ir^S. 

««} hxatoffvimit^ But whatever theories might be fram- 
ed by speculative men, his work was of an historical, not 
of an allegorical nature. Bfavrixxtrt fiivu rov MifTi«>, 
»«) 9ir»v i»ei^roTt tcftmttrg, irdvTet rot tin^ti^tet ^ii^mtS- 
T9, xeti l^ro^itM t9'uf^einr§, unit V% /m *)» »«) fiftifttirvtib 
> Diogenet Laertini, Lib. ii. Anazag. 8cgm. 11. 



4 PRBFACB TO 

9r^9T»tt y^A^tttau^ Instead of lecommeiLding the choice 
of a subject similar to that of Homer, it waste he expected 
that critics should have exhorted the poets of these latter 
days to adopt or invent a nanative in itself more suscep- 
tible of poetical ornament, and to avail themsdves of that 
advantage in order to compensate, in some degree, the in- 
feriorit J of genius. The contraiy course has been inculcat- 
ed by almost all the writers upon the Ept^^cda ; with what 
success, the fate of Homer^s numerous imitators may 
best show. The tdtimum suppUcium of criticism was in- 
flicted on the author if he did not choose a subject 
which at once deprived him of all claim to originality, 
and placed him, if not in actual contest, at least in £&tal 
comparison, with those giants iu the land, whom it was 
most his interest to avoid. The celebrated receipt for 
writing an epic poem, which s^peared in The Guardian,' 
was the first instance in which common sense was ap- 
plied to this department of poetry ; and, indeed, if the 
question be considered on its own merits, we must be 
satisfied that nanative poetry, if stricUy confined to the 
great occurrences of history, would be deprived of the 
individual interest, which it is so well calculated to ex- 
cite. 

Modem poets may therefore be pardoned in seeking 
simpler subjects of verse, more interesting in proportion 
to their simplicity. Two or three figures, well grouped, 
suit the artist better than a crowd, for whatever purpose 
assembled. For the same reason, a scene immediately 
presented to the imagination, and directly brought home 
to the feelings, though involving the fate but of one or 
two persons, is more favourable fox poetry than the po- 

1 HoiMri Vita, in Herod, Benr, Sitpk, 107Q> p. aML 
> [See it at the end of thit pTeface.1 



THI BB1D4L OP TEIBRMlDf. 5 

litieal ftrugglef ind o<m?iilfions which influence the &te 
of kingdoms. The fbnner are wifhin the reach and 
eomprehendon of all, and, if depicted with Tigonr, lel- 
dom ftil to fix attention : The other, if more sublime, 
are more yague and distant, less capable of being dis- 
tinctly understood, and infinitely less capable of exciting 
those sentiments which it is the Teiy purpose of poetry 
to inspire. To generalize is always to destroy effect. 
We would, for example, be more interested in the fkte 
of an individual soldier in combat, than in the grand 
event of a general action *, with the happiness of two 
loven raised ttom misery and anxiety to peace and 
union, than with the successful exertions of a whole na- 
tion. From what causes this may originate, is a sepa- 
rate and obviously an immaterial consideration. Be- 
fore ascribing this pecoliarity to causes decidedly and 
odiously selfish, it is proper to recollect, that while men 
see only a limited space, and while their affections and 
conduct are regulated, not by aspiring to an universal 
good, but by exerting their power of making themselves 
and others happy within the limited scale allotted to 
each individual, so long will individual history and in- 
dividual virtue be the readier and more accessible road 
to general interest and attention *, and, perhaps, we may 
add, that it is the more useful, as well as the more ac- 
eessible, inasmuch as it affords an example cai>able of 
being easily imitated. 

According to the autfaor^s idea' of Romantic Poetry, 
as distinguished from Kpic, the former comprehends a 
fictitious narrative, framed and combined at the plea- 
sura of the writer ; beginning and ending as he may 
judge best ; which neither exacts nor refuses the use of 
supernatural machinery ; which is free from the techm> 
cal rules of the JSp6e ; and is subject only to those which 



D PRBFACB TO 

good senae, good taste, and good moialB, apjdy to ever j 
species of poetiy without exception. The date may be . 
in a remote age, or in the present ; the story may de- 
tail the adventures of a prince or of a peasant. In a 
word, the author is absolute master of his country and 
its ii^abitants, and every thing is permitted to him, ex- 
cepting to be heavy or prosaic, for which, free and un- 
embarrassed as he is, he has no manner of apology. 
Those, it is probable, will be found the peculiarities of 
this species of composition ; and, before joining the out- 
cry against the vitiated taste that fosters and encourages 
it, the justice and grounds of it ought to be made per- 
fectly apparent. If the want of sieges, and battles, and 
great military evolutions, in our poetry, is complained 
of, let us reflect, that the campaigns and heroes of our 
days are perpetuated in a record that neither requires 
nor admits of the aid of fiction ; and if the complaint 
refers to the inferiority of our bards, let us pay a just 
tribute to their modesty, limiting them, as it does, to 
subjects which, however indifferently treated, have still 
the interest and charm of novelty, and which thus pre- 
vents them from adding insipidity to their other more 
insuperable defects. 

[a RECBIiT TO MAKB AN BPIC POBM.] 
FOR THJS FABLE. 

" Take out of any old poem, history book, romance, or legend, 
(for instance, Geoffry of Monmouth, or Don Belianis of Greece,) 
those parts of the story which afford most scox>e for long desctiptiona. 
Put these pieces together, and throw all the adyentnres yon &ncy 
into one tale. Then take a hero whom you may choose for the 
sound of his name, and put him into the midst of these adyen* 
tures : There let 1^ work for twelve books, at the end of which, 
you may take him out ready prepared to conquer or marry, it 
being necessary that the conclusion of an epic poem be fbrtunate." 

To make an Bpliode.^" Take any remaining adventure of your 
former collection, in which yon.covld no waj involve your hero. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIKOlf AIN. 7 

Mr any unfortunate accident that waa too good to be thrown away* 
and it will be of use, applied to any other person, who may be lost 
and evaporate in the course of the work, without the least damage 
to the composition.** 

For the Moral ar%d Attegorp. — " These you may extract out of 
the fable afterwards at your leisure. Be sure you strain them Boi* 
ficiently." 

pon TBB uAssmna. 

" For those of the hero, take all the best qualities you can find 
in all the celebrated heroes of antiquity; if they will not be re- 
duced to a consistency, lay them allon a heap upon him. Be surtt- 
they are qualities which your patron would be thought to hare ; 
and, to prevent any mistake which the world may be subject to, 
select from the Alphabet those capital letters that compose his 
name, and set them at the head of a dedication before your poem*. 
However, do not absolutely observe the exact quantity of these 
virtues, it not being determined whether or no it be necessary for 
the hero of a poem to be an honest man. For the under charac- 
ters, gather them from Homer and Virgil, and change the names 
as occasion serves." 

ron THB MACHINES. 

" Take of deities, male and female, as many as you can use* 
Separate them into equal parts, and keep Jupiter in the middle. 
Let Juno put him in a ferment, and Venus mollify him. Remem- 
ber on all occasions to make use of volatile Mercury. If you have 
need of devils, draw them out of Milton's Paradise, and extract 
your spirits from Tasso. The use of these machines is evident* 
for, since no epic poem can possibly subsist without them, the 
wisest way is to reserve them for your greatest necessities. When 
you cannot extricate your hero by any human means, or yourself 
by your own wits, seek relief from Heaven, and the gods will do 
your business very readily. This is according to the direct pre- 
scription of Horace in his Art of Poetry : 

' Nee Deus unterslt, nisi dignua vindioe nodus 
Indderit.' Verse 191. 

' Never presume to make a god appear 
But for a business worthy of a god.'— BoacoioiON. 

That is to say, a poet should never call upon the gods for their as- 
sistanoe, but when he is in great perplexity.'* 

POB TBS DESCRIPTIONS. 

Far a Tempest. — " Take Bums, Zephjr, Auster, and Boreas, 
and cast them together into one verse. Add to these, of rain, 
lightning, and of thunder, (the loudest you can,) quantum sufficit. 
Mix your clouds and billows well together until they foam, and 



8 PRSFACl TO 

thfcdEMi jtmr deKTiptton here md tlwre with a qniclcMmd. Brew 
yen to m pert well In yourhesd before you Mt a>blowhig,** 

Farm flMtfe.— *' Pick a laxge quuitltyof fanages and detcriptiont 
from Homer^s Iliad, with a spice or two of ViiiU ; and if there re- 
main any orevplve, yon may lay them by for a tkirmiBh. Season 
it w«Il with elmileey and it will mak« an exc^loit battle. 

F^ a Burning Town.—" If such a description be necessary, 
becanse it is certain there is one in VifKil, Old Troy is ready burnt 
to yowr hands. But if yon fear that wonld be thonfi^t borrowed, 
a chapter or two of the Theory of Conflagration,! well dream- 
fltanced, md done into rerse, will be a good sncce^Umenm.** 

▲s^ timQet and melaphertt " they may be fbnnd all oter the 
crsathm. The most Ignorant may gatiier them, bat the danger is 
ip applying them. For this, adTise with yomr bookseller.** ' 

von THB LANGVAOa. 

(I mean the dictien.) " Here it will do well to be an imitator 
of Milton ; for you will find it easier to imitate hfan in this than 
any «hfag else. Hebraisms and Gredsms are to be found in him, 
without the trouble of learning the languages. I knew a painter, 
who (like our poet) had no genius, makehisdaubtagstobelhought 
oiiginalSy by setting them in the smoke. You may, in the same 
manner, gite the Tenerable air of antiquity to your piece, by 
darkening np and down like Old English. With this you may be 
easily furnished upon any occasion, by the Dictionary commonly 
printed at the end of Chaucer.** 

^ I must not conclude without cautioning all writers without 
genius in one material point, which is, nerer to be afiaid of having 
toe much fire in their works. I should advise rather to take their 
warmest thoughts, and spread them abroad upon paper ; for they 
are obserrod to «oel before fbey are read."— Pop*. The Ouarditm, 
No. 78>] 

1 From Lib. iiL De Conflagratione Mnndi, of Telluris Theoria 
Saera, published in 4tO!, M89. By Dr. Thomas Bnmet, master of 
the Chwter-Honse. 



THB 



BRIDAL OF TRIBRMAIN; 



OB. 



THE VALE OF ST. JOHN. 



A LOVER'S TALE. 



[ 11 1 



T!1K 



BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIX. 



INTllODUCTION. 



I. 
CuMK, Lucy ! while 'tis morniDg hour. 

The woodland brook we needs must puss *, 
So, ere the sun assume his power, 
We shelter in our poplar bower, 
AVhere dew lies long upon the flower. 

Though vanish^ from the velvet grass. 
Curbing the stream, this stony ridge 
May serve us for a silvan bridge ; 

For here, compelPd to disimite. 
Round petty isles the runnels glide. 
And chafing off their puny spite. 
The shallow murmurers waste their might, 

Yielding to footstep free and light 
A dry-shod pass from side to side. 



12 THE BRIDAL OF TRIEKUAW, 1 

II. 

Nay, why this hesitating pause ? 
And, Lucy, as thy step withdraws, 
Why sidelong eye the streamlet's brim ? 

Titania^s foot without a slip. 
Like thine, though timid, light, and slim. 

From stone to stone might safely trip, 

Nor risk the glow-worm clasp to dip 
That binds her slipper^s silken rim. 
Or trust thy lover^s strength : nor fear 

That this same stalwart arm of mine, 
Which could yon oak*s prone trunk uprear, 
Shall shrink beneath the burden dear 

Of form so slender, light, and fine 

So, — ^now, the danger dared at last. 
Look back, and smile at perils past ! 

III. 
And now we reach the favourite glade, 

Paled in by copsewood, cliff, and stone, 
Where never harsher sounds invade. 

To break affection*s whispering tone. 
Than the deep breeze that waves the shade. 

Than the small brooklet*s feeble moan. 
Come ! rest thee on thy wonted seat ; ^ 

Moss*d i« the stone, the turf is green, 
A place where lovers best may meet 

Who would not that their love be seen. 
The boughs, that dim the summer sky. 
Shall hide us from each lurking spy, 

That fidn would spread the invidious tale, 
How Lucy of the lofty eye,* 

> CMS.— "Haughty eye. T 



THI BRIDAL OF TUKaMAOr. 13 

Noble in birth, in fortunes high. 
She for whom lords and barons sigh. 
Meets her poor Arthur in the dale. 

IV. 
How deep that blush !— how deep that sigh ! 
And why does Lucy shun mine eye ? 
Is it because that crimson draws 
Its colour (rom some secret cause. 
Some hidden movement of the bieast. 
She would not that her Arthur guess*d ? 
O ! quicker far is lovers* ken 
Than the dull glance of common men,^ 
And, by strange sympathy can spell 
The thoughts the loved one will not tell ! 
And mine, in Lucy^s blush, saw met 
The hues of pleasure and regret ; 
Pride mingled in the sigh her voice. 

And shared with Love the crimson glow ; 
Well pleased that thou art Arthur's choice, 
Yet shamed thine own is placed so low : 
Thou tum*8t thy self-confessing cheek, 
As if to meet the breeze*s cooling ; 
Then, Lucy, hear thy tutor speak. 
For Love, too, has his hours of schooling. 

V. 

Too oft my anxious eye has spied 
That secret grief thou &in wouldst hide, 
The passing pang of humbled pride ; 
Too oft, when through the splendid hall, 

' L *' with wingi as swift 

Afl meditation or the thoughts of loTe." 

Hamlet. 



14 THE BRIDAL OP TRIKRMAIN. 

The load-star of each heart and eye. 
My fair one leads the glittering ball. 
Will her stoPn glance on Arthur fall. 

With such a blush and such a sigh ! 
Thou wouldst not yield, for wealth or rank. 

The heart thy worth and beauty won. 
Nor leave me on this mossy bank, 

To meet a rival on a throne : 
Why then should vain repinings rise, 
That to thy lover £ate denies 
A nobler name, a wide domain, 
A Baron's birth, a menial train. 
Since Heaven assigned him, for his part 
A Ijrre, a fklchion, and a heart ? 

VI. 

My sword ^its master must be dumb 

But, when a soldier names my name, 
= Approach, my Lucy ! fearless come. 
Nor dread to hear of Arthur's shame. 
My heart — 'mid all yon courtly crew, 

Of lordly rank and lofty line, 
Is there to love and honour true, 
That boasts a pulse so warm as mine ?^ 
They praise thy diamond's lustre rare — 

Matched with thine eyes, I thought it faded ; 
They praised the pearls that bound thy hair — 

I only saw the locks they braided ; 
They talked of wealthy dower and land. 

And titles of high birth the token — 
I thought of Lucy's heart and hand, 
Nor knew the sense of what was spoken. 

4 

1 [MS.—" That boasts so varm a heart as mine. "J 



L 



THE BRIDAL OP TRIERMA1N. 15 

And yet, if ranked in Fortune's roll, 
I might have leam*d their choice unwise. 

Who rate the dower above the soul. 
And Lucy's diamonds o'er her eyes.* 

VII. 
My lyre — ^it is an idle toy. 

That borrows accents not its own. 
Like warbler of Colombian skv. 

That sings but in a mimic tone.* 
Ne'er did it sound o'er sainted well. 
Nor boasts it aught of Border spell ; 
Its strings no feudal slogan pour. 
Its heroes draw no broad claymore ; 
No shouting clans applauses raise, 
Because it sung their father's praise ;' 
On Scottish moor, or English down, 
It ne'er was graced with £ur renown ; 
Nor won, — best meed to minstrel true«— 
One favouring smile from £Eur Buocjlbuch ! 
By one poor streamlet sounds its tone, 
And heard by one dear maid alone. 

VIII. 

But, if thou bid'st, these tones shall tell. 
Of errant knight, and damozelle ; 
Of the dread knot a Wizard tied. 
In punishment of maiden's pride, 
In notes of marvel and of fear. 
That best may charm romantic ear. 



1 [MS.—" And Lucy's gems before her eye*."] 

• The Mocldng Bird. 

3 [MS.—" Perchance, becaiue it sang their praiM."j 



\9 THE BRIDAL OP TRIERMAIN. 

For Lucy lovesy-^ke Collins, ill-8tarr*d name !^ 
Whose lay's requital was that taidy fame. 
Who bound no laurel round his living head. 
Should hang it o*er his monument when dead,— 
For Lucy loves to tread the enchanted strand, 
And thread, like him, the maze of Fairy land ; 
Of golden battlements to view the gleam. 
And slumber soft by some Elysian stream ; 
Such lays she loves, — and such my Lucy's choice, 
What other song can claim her Poet's voice ? 

1 Collins, according to Johnson, " by indulging some peculiar 
habits of thought, was eminently delighted with those flights of 
imagination vhich pass the bounds of nature, and to whkh the 
mind is recondled only by a passive acquiescence in populiv tra- 
ditions. He loved fairies, genii, giants, and monsters ; he delight- 
ed to rove through the meanders of enchantment, to gase on the 
magnificence of golden palaces, to repose by the vateriUls of Ely- 
dan gardens." 



I 17 1 



THB 



BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



CANTO FIRST. 



I. 
Whbrb is the Maiden of mortal Btrain, 
That may match with the Baron of Triermain ?* 
She must be lovely, and constant, and kind, 
Holy and pure, and humble of mind, 

1 Triermain was a fief of the Barony of Oilriand, In Cumber* 
land ; it was possessed by a Saxon family at the time of the Con- 
quest, but, '* siter the death of Oilmore, Lord of Tryermaine and 
Torcrossock, Hubert Vaux gave Tryermaine and Torcrossock to 
his second son, Ranulph Vaux ; which Banulph afterwards be- 
came heir to his elder brother Robert, the founder of Laneroost, 
who died without issue. Ranulph, being Lord of all Oilsland, 
gare Oilmore's lands to his own younger son, named Roland, and let 
the Barony descend to his eldest son Robert, son of Ranulph. Ro- 
land had issue Alexander, and he Ranulph, after whom succeeded 
Robert, and they were named Rolands successiTely, that were 
lords thereof, until the reign of Edward the Fourth. That house 
gare for arms, Vert, a bend dexter, chequy, or and gules."— 
Burn's Anttquitiet of WatmcreUmd and Cumberland, vol. ii p. 
482. See Aiipendix, Note A. 

B 



•iWBPS^^iiBMi^-^i--- I 



18 THB BRIDAL OP TRISRMAIN. Cotlto L 

Blithe of cheer, and gentle of mood, 

Courteous, and generous, and noble of blood — 

Lovely as the Bun*s first ray. 

When it breaks the clouds of an April day ; 

Constant and true as the widowM dove, 

Kind as a minstrel that sings of love ; 

Pure as the fountain in rocky cave. 

Where never sunbeam kissM the wave ; 

Humble as maiden that loves in vain. 

Holy as hermit^s vesper strain ; 

Gentle as breeze that but whispers and dies. 

Yet blithe as the light leaves tiiat dance in its sighs ; 

Courteous as monarch the morn he is crownM, 

Generous as spring-dews that bless the glad ground ; 

^oble her blood as the currents that met 

In the veins of the noblest Plnntagenet — 

Such must her form be, her mood, and her strain, 

That shall match with Sir Roland of Triermain. 

II. 

Sir Roland de Vaux he hfith laid him to sleep. 
His blood it was fevered, his breathing was deep. 
He had been pricking against the Scot, 
The foray was long, and the skirmish hot *, 
His dinted helm and his buckler*s plight 
Bore token of a stubborn fight 

All in the castle must hold them still, 
Harpers must lull him to his rest. 
With the slow soft tunes he loves the best. 
Till sleep sink down upon his breast, 

liike the dew on a summer hill. 

III. 
It was the dawn of an autumn day ; 
The sun was struggling with frost-fog gray, 



CkmdQ L THX bridal of TRtSAMAIX. 19 

That like a nlrerjr aape waa wpwtA 
Round Skiddaw^B dim and distant head. 
And fieuntly gleamM each painted pane 
Of the lordly halls of Triennain, 

When that Baron bold awoke. 
Starting he woke, and loudly did call. 
Bousing his menials in bower and hall. 

While hastily he spoke. 

IV. 
**• Hearken, my minstrels ! Which of ye all 
Touched his haip with that dying fall. 

So sweet, so soft, so fiunt. 
It seemed an angels whispered call 

To an expiring saint ? 
And hearken, my meny-men I What time or where 

Did she pass, that maid with her heavenly brow. 
With her look so sweet and her eyes so fiiir, 
And her graceful step and her angel air, 
And the eagle plume in her dark-brown hair. 

That passed from my bower e*en now ! 



It 



V. 
Answered him Richard de Bretville ; he 
Was chief of the Baron's minstrelsy, — 
^ Silent, noble chieftain, we 

Hare sat since midnight close. 
When such lulling sounds as the brooklet sings. 
Murmured from our melting strings, 
And hushed you to repose. 
Had a harp-note sounded here. 
It had caught my watchful ear. 
Although it fell as fiunt and shy 
As bashful maiden^s hal^fonn*d sigh, 
When she thinks her lover near."* 



20 THR BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. CatUo I. 

Answered Philip of Fastbwaite tall. 
He kept guard in the outer-hall, — 
" Since at eve our watch took post, 
Not a foot has thy portal crossed ; 

Else had I heard the steps, though low 
And light they fell, as when earth receives, 
In mom of frost, the withered leaves, 

That drop when no winds blow." — 

VI. 

^ Then come thou hither, Henry, my page, 
Whom I saved from the sack of Hermitage, 
When that dark castle, tower, and spire. 
Rose to the skies a pile of fire. 

And redden^ all the Nine-stane Hill, 
And the shrieks of death, that wildly broke 
Through devouring flame and smothering smoke, 

Made the warrior's heart-blood chill. 
The trustiest thou of all my train. 
My fleetest courser thou must rein. 

And ride to Lyulph's tower, 
' And from the Baron of Triermain 

Greet well that Sage of power. 
He is sprung from Druid sires, 
And British bards that tuned their lyres 
To Arthur's and Pendragon's praise, 
And his who sleeps at Dunmailraise.^ 
GKfted like his gifted race. 
He the characters can trace, 
Graven deep in eldfer time 
Upon Hellvellyn's cliffs sublime ; 

1 Dunmailraise is one of the grand passes from Cumberland into 
Westmoreland. It takes its name from a cairn, or pile of stones, 
erected, it is said, to thememrryof Dunm:u], the last King of 
Cumberland. 



L 



Canto /. TRB BRIDAL OF TRUIUCAIN. 21 

Sign and si'gil well doth he know. 
And can bode of weal and woe. 
Of kingdoms* fall, and fate of wan, 
.From mystic dreams and course of stars. 
He shall tell if middle earth 
To that enchanting shape gave birth, 
Or if Hwas but an airy thing. 
Such as fantastic slumbers bring, 
FramM from the iainbow*s varying dyes, 
Or fading tints of western skies.^ 
For, by the blessed rood I swear. 
If that fair form breathe vital air. 
No other maiden by my side 
Shall ever rest De Vaux's bride !*' 

VII. 

The faithful Page he mounts his steed, 
And soon he crossed green Irthing's mead, 
Dash'd o*er Kirkoswald*s verdant plain, 
And Eden barrM his course in vain. 
He passM red Penrith^s Table Round, 
For feats of chivalry renownM, 
Left Maybuigh^s mound and stones of power. 
By Druids raised in magic hour,* 
And traced the EamonVs winding way, 
TUl Ulfo*s lake> beneath him lay. 

VIIL 
Onward he rode, the pathway still 
Winding betwixt the lake and hill ; 

1 [" Just like Aurora when she ties 
A rainbow round the morning gkies." 

MOORB.] 

> See Appendix, Note B. > [Ulswater.! 



23 THK BUBAL OF TRZBBMAIN. Canto F, 

Till on the ftagment of a rock. 
Struck from its Vase hj lightning shock. 

He saw the hoary Sage : 
The silver moss and lichen twined. 
With fern and deer-hair checked and lined, 

A cushion fit for age *, 
And o*er him shook the aspen-tree, 
A resUess rustling canopy. 
Then sprung young Henry from his selle, 

And greeted Lyulph grave. 
And then his master^s tale did tell. 

And then for counsel crave. 
The Man of Years mused long and deep, 
Of timers lost treasures taking keep. 
And then, as rousing from a sleep. 

His solemn answer gave. 

IX. 
** That maid is bom of middle earth. 

And may of man be won. 
Though there have glided since her birth 

Five hundred years and one. 
But where^ the Knight in all the north, 
That dare the adventure follow forth. 
So perilous to knightly worth. 

In the valley of St. John ? 
Listen, youth, to what I tell. 
And bind it on thy memory well ; 
Nor muse that I commence the rhyme 
Far distant mid the wrecks of time. 
The mystic tale, by bard and sage. 
Is handed down fiiom Meriin's age. 



Camto /. THB Bftn>AL OP TRURMAIK. 23 

X. 

^Vi^^y^ Calr. 

**■ Kino Arthub has ridden from merry Carlisle, 

When Pentecost was o*er : 
He journey^ like errant-knight the while. 
And sweetly the sommer son did imile 

On mountain, moss, and moor. 
Ahove his solitary track 
Rose 01aramara*B ridgy back. 
Amid whose yawning golfr the sun 
Cast umbered radiance red and dun. 
Though never sunbeam could discern 
The surfitce of that sable tam,^ 
In whose black minor you may spy 
The stars, while noontide lights the sky. 
The gallant King he skirted still 
The margin of that mighty hill ; 
Rock upon locks incumbent hung, 
And torrents, down the gullies flung. 
Joined the rude river that brawPd on. 
Recoiling now from crag and sUme, 
Now diving deep from human kmi. 
And mving down its darksome glen. 
The Monarch judged this desert wild, 
. With such romantic ruin piled. 
Was theatre by Nature*^ hand 
For feat of hi|^ achieTement plano*d« 

XL 
<* O mther he chose, that Monarch boid. 
On ventYons quest to ride, 

1 The nnall lake csUedScalm-tani, which lies 10 deeply embowin- 
Sd in the lefei of the huge moontain called Saddlebark, aMne 
poetically Glanunaia, is of nch great depth, and lo completely 



24 THB BRIDAL OF TRIIEMAIN. ConiUi L 

In plate and mail, by wood and wold, 
Than, with ennine trapped and cloth of gold. 

In princely bower to bide ; 
The bunting crash of a foeman^s spear, 

As it shiver'd against his mail. 
Was merrier music to his ear 

Than courtier^s whispered tale : 
And the clash of Calibum more dear. 

When on the hostile casque it rung. 
Than all the lays 
To their monarches praise 

That the harpers of Reged sung. 
He loved better to rest by wood or river. 
Than in bower of his bride. Dame Guenever, 
For he left that lady so lovely of cheer. 
To follow adventures of danger and fear ; 
And the frank-hearted Monarch fiill little did wot. 
That she smiled, in his absence, on brave Lancelot 

XIL 

** He rode, till over down and dell 
The shade more broad and deeper fell ; 
And though around the mountain's head 
Flowed streams of purple, and gold, and red. 
Dark at the base, unblest by beam. 
Frowned the black rocks, and roar*d the stream. 
* With toil the King his way pursued 
fiy lonely Threlkeld's waste and wood. 
Till on his course obliquely shone 
The nanow valley of Saint John, 
Down sloping to the western sky. 
Where lingering sunbeams love to lie. 

hidden from the sun, that it is said its beams never reach it, and 
that the T«fl«ction of the stars may be seen at mid-day. 



CaMo L THB BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIX. 25 

Right glad to feel those beams again. 
The King drew up his chaiger^s rein ; 
With gauntlet raised he screened his sight, 
As dazzled with the level light, 
And, from beneath his glove of mail, 
SoannM at his ease the lovely vale. 
While 'gainst the sun his armour bright 
Gleam "d ruddy like the beacon's light. 

XIII. 
" Paled in by many a lofty hill. 
The narrow dale lay smooth and still. 
And, down its verdant bosom led, 
A winding brooklet found its bed. 
But, midmost of the vale, a mound 
Arose with airy turrets crown 'd. 
Buttress, and rampire*s circling bound. 

And mighty keep and tower ; 
SeemM some primeval giant's hand 
The castle's massive walls had plann'd, 
A ponderous bulwark to withstand 

Ambitious Nimrod's power. 
Above the moated entrance sUing, 
The balanced drawbridge trembling hung, 

As jealous of a foe ; 
Wicket of oak, as iron hard. 
With iron studded, clench'd, and barr'd, 
And prong'd portcullis, join'd to guard 

The gloomy pass below. 
But the gray walls no banners crown 'd, 
Upon the watch-tower's airy round 
No warder stood his horn to sound. 
No guard beside the bridge was found. 
And, where the .Gothic gateway frown'd, 

Glanced neither bill nor bow. 



26 THB BRIOAL OF TRIXRMAIN. CofdO /• 

XIV. 

*^ Beneath the castle^s gloomj pride, 
In ample round did Arthur ride 
Three times ; nor living thing he spied, 

Nor heard a living sound. 
Save thatj awakening from her dream. 
The owlet now began to scream. 
In concert with the rushing stream. 

That wash'd the battled mound. 
He lighted from his goodly steed. 
And he left him to graze on bank and mead ; 
And slowly he climbed the narrow way. 
That reached the entrance grim and gray. 
And he stood the outward arch below, 
And his bugle-horn prepared to blow. 

In summons blithe and bold. 
Deeming to rouse from iron sleep 
The guardian of this dismal Keep, 

Which well he guess'd the hold 
Of wizard stem, or goblin grim. 
Or pagan of gigantic limb. 

The tyrant of the wold. 

XV. 

" The ivory buglers golden tip 

Twice touched the Monarches manly Up, 

And twice his hand withdrew. 
— Think not but Arthur^s heart was good ! 
His shield was crossed by the blessed rood. 
Had a pagan host before him stood, 

He had charged them through and through ; 
Yet the silence of that ancient place 
Sunk on his heart, and he paused a spoee 

Ere yet his horn he blew. 



ChntO I. THX BRIDAL OP TRXXRUAJN. 27 

But, instant as its *lanim rang. 
The castle gate was open flung, 
Portcullis rose with crashing groan 
Full harshly up its groore of stone ; 
The balance-beams obeyed ^e blast, 
And down the trembling drawbridge cast ; 
The vaulted arch before him lay, 
With nought to bar the gloomy way, 
And onward Arthur paced, with hand 
On Calibum^s^ resistless brand. 

XVI. 

« A hundred torches, flashing bright. 
Dispelled at once the gloomy night 

That loured along the walls. 
And showed the King's astonished sight 

The inmates of the halls. 
Nor wizard stem, nor goblin grim. 
Nor giant huge cf form and limb. 

Nor heathen knight, was there ; 
But the cressets, which odours flung aloft, 
Showed by their yellow lig^t and soft, 

A band of damsels fiur. 
Onward they came, like summer wave 

That dances to the shore ; 
An hundred voices welcome gave, 

And welcome o*er and o'er ! 
An hundred lovely hands assail 
The bucklers of the monarch's mail. 
And busy laboorVl to unhasp 
Rivet of steel and iron claqi. 



1 This m» Xh» nam* of King Arthin^t weH-kaovn tword, aome- 
timet alio called Excalibar. 



28 THB BRID.4L OF TRIVRMAIN* Catlto I. 

One wrappM him in a mantle fair. 

And one flung odours on his hair ; 

His short curPd ringlets one smoothM down, 

One wreathed them with a myrtle-crown. 

A bride upon her wedding-day. 

Was tended ne*er by troop so gay. 

XVII. 

** Loud laughed they all,^ — the King, in vain, 
With questions tasked the giddy train ; 
Let him entreat, or crave, or call, 
Twas one reply, — loud laughed they all. 
Then o^er him mimic chains they fling. 
Framed of the fairest flowers of spring. 
While some their gentle force unite. 
Onward to drag the wondering knight. 
Some, bolder, urge his pace with blowi^ 
Dealt with the lily or the rose. 
Behind him were in triumph borne 
The warlike arms he late had worn. 
Four of the train combined to rear 
The terrors of Tintadgel^ spear ; ' 
Two, laughing at their lack of strength, 
DiaggM Calibum in cumbrous lengUi ; 
One, while she aped a martial stride, 
Placed on her brows the helmet*s pride ; 
Then screamed, 'twixt laughter and surprise. 
To feel its depth overwhelm her eyes. 
With revel-shout, and triumph-song. 
Thus gaily marched the giddy throng. 



3 TiDtadgel Cattle, in Cornwall, is reported to hare been the 
Mithplace of King Arthur. 



ConiO I, .THS BRIDAL OP TRIIRMAlK. 2^ 

XVIII. 

'* Through many a gallery and hall 

They led, I ween, their royal thrall ; 

.At length, heneath a fair arcade i 

Their march and Bong at once they staid. 

The eldest maiden of the band, I 

(The lovely maid was scarce eighteen,) 
Raised, with imposing air, her hand. 
And reverent silence did command. 

On entrance of their Queen, 
And they were mute.-^But as a glance 
They steal on Arthor^s countenance 

Bewilder'^d with surprise. 
Their smother'd mirth again *gan speak, 
In archly dimpled chin and cheek. 

And laughter^lighted eyes. 

XIX. 

*^ The attributes of those high days 
Now only live in minstrel-lays ; 
For Nature, now exhausted, still 
Was then profuse of good and ill. 
Strength was gigantic, valour high. 
And wisdom soared bevond the skv, 
And beauty had such matchless beam 
As lights not now a lover's dream. 
Yet e*en in that romantic age, 

Ne'er were such charms by mortal seen. 
As Arthur^s dazzled eyes engage. 
When forth on that enchanted stage, 
With glittering train of maid and page. 

Advanced the castle*s Queen ! 
While up the hall she slowly passed. 
Her dark eye on the ELing she cast. 



30 THB BRIDAL OF TRURMAIN. CcoUo I. 

That flashed expresaion strong ; 
The longer dwelt that Imgering look, 
Her cheek the livelier colour took. 
And scarce the shame-faced King could brook 

The gaze that lasted long. 
A sage, who had that look espied. 
Where kindling passion strove with pride, 
Had whispered, ' Prince, beware ! 
From the chafed tiger rend the prey. 
Rush on the lion when at bay. 
Bar the fell dragon'^ blighted way. 

But shun that lovely snare !* — ^ 

XX. 

'' At once, that inward strife suppressed. 
The dame approached her warlike guest. 
With greeting in that &ir degree. 
Where female pride and courtesy 
Are blended with such passing art 
As awes at once and charms the heart.^ 
A courtly welcome first she gave. 
Then of his goodness ^gan to crave 

Construction £Eur and true 
Of her light maidens* idle mirth, 
Who drew from lonely glens their birth. 
Nor knew to pay to stranger worth 

And dignity their due ; 

1 Q" ArouM the tiger of Hyrcanian deserts, 
Strire irith the half-etarred lion for his prey ; 
Lesser the risk, than rouse the slumbering fire 

Of irild Fanaticism." 

fFaverlej/ NoveU, vol. zviL p. S07.] 
s I'* Still sways their souls with that commanding art 
That danlesi leads, yet chills the vulgar heart." 

Byron's Conahr, 1814.] 



Canto I. THE BRIDAL OP TRIBRMAIK. 

And then she pray'd that he would ml 
That night her castle^s honoured guest 
The Monarch meetly thanks ezpzett'd ; 
The banquet rose at her behest. 
With lay and tale, and laugh and jest, 
Apace the eyening flew. 

XXI. 

" The lady sate the Monarch by. 
Now in her turn abash'd and shy. 
And with indifference seem'd to hear 
The toys he whispered in her ear. 
Her bearing modest was and &ir. 
Yet shadows of constraint were there, 
That showed an over-cautious care 
Some inward thought to hide ; 
Oft did she pause in full reply, 
And oft cast down her large dark eye. 
Oft check'd the soft yoluptuous sigh, ' 

That heav'd her bosom's pride. 
Slight symptoms these, but shepherds know 
How hot the mid-day sun shall glow. 
From the mist of morning sky ; 
And so the wily Monarch guessed, 
That this assum'd restraint expreasM 
More ardent passions in the breast, 

Than ventured to the eye. 
Closer he press'd, while beakers rang. 
While maidens laugh'd and minstrels sang, 

Still closer to her ear- 
But why pursue the common tale ? 
Or wherefore show how knights prevail 
Where ladies dare to hear ? 



SI 



I 

32 THE BRIDAL OF TRIKRMAIN. Catlto /. 

Or wherefore trace, from what slight cause 
Its source one tyrant passion draws, 

Till, mastering all within,^ 
Where lives the man that has not tried, 
How mirth can into folly glide, 

And folly into sin !^ 



|W 



I [ "One Master Pabston in the breast, 

Like Aaron's serpent, swallows up the rest." 

POPK.^ 



[ 33 1 



THB 



BRIDAL OP TRIERMAIN. 



CANTO SECOND. 



I. 

« Anothbr day, another day. 
And yet another, glides away 1 
The Saxon stem, the pagan Dane, 
Maraud on Britain's shores u gaif L 
Arthur, of Christendom the flower. 
Lies loitering in a lady's bower ; 
The horn that foemen wont to fe*i.^ 
Soundhi but to wake the Cumbrian deer. 
And Calibum, the British pride^ 
Hangs useless by a lover's side. 

n. 

" Another day, another day. 
And yet another, glides away. 
Heroic plans in pleasure diown'd. 
He thinks not of the Table Round; 



£4 THB BRIDAL OF TRIBRMAIN. CantO 11. 

In lawless lore dissolved his life, 
He thinks not of his beauteous^ wife : 
Better he loves to snatch a flower 
From bosom of his paramour, 
Than from a Saxon knight^ to wrest 
The honours of his heathen crest ; 
Better to wreathe, ^d tresses brown. 
The heron*s plume her hawk struck down. 
Than o'er the altar give to flow 
The banners of a Paynim foe.' 
Thus, week by week, and day by day, 
His life inglorious glides away ; 
But she, that soothes his dream, with fear 
Beholds his hour of waking near.^ 

III. 

** Much force have mortal charms to stay 
Our peace in Virtue's toilsome way ; 
But Guendolen's might far outshine 
Each maid of merely mortal line. 
Her mother was of human birth. 
Her sire a Glenie of the earth, 
In days of old deem'd to preside 
O'er lovers' wiles and beauty's pride, 
By youths and virgins worshipped long. 
With festive dance and choral song. 
Till, when the cross to Britain came. 
On heathen altars died the flame. 
Now, deep in Wastdale solitude. 
The downfall of his rights he rued, 

1 QMS.—" Loyely."] 
« CMS.—" Paynim knight."] 
« [MS.—" Vanquish'd foe."J 

4 [The MS. has this and the sixth couplet of stansa iii. interpo- 
lated.] 



CkitUo 11, THB BRlDAt 09 TRUBMAIN. 35 

And, bom of his resentment heir, 
He train'd to guile that lady fiiir, 
To sink in slothful sin and shame 
The champions of the Christian name. 
WeU skiird to keep vain thoughts alive. 
And all to promise, nought to give, 
The timid youth had hope in store. 
The bold and pressing gain'd no more. 
As wilder'd chUdren leave their home. 
After the rainbow's arch to roam, 
Her lovers bartered feir esteem. 
Faith, &me, and honour, for a dream. ^ 

IV. 

'' Her sire's soft arts the soul io tame' 
She practised thus— till Arthur came ; 
Then, frail humanity had part, 
And all the mother chiim'd her heart. 
Forgot each rule her fiither gave^ 
Sunk from a princess to a shive. 
Too late must Guendolen deplore. 
He, that has all,' can hope no more ! 
Now must she see* her lover strain, 
At every turn, her feeble chain ;* 
Watch, to new-bind each knot, and shrink 
To view each fest-decaying link. 
Art she invokes to Nature's aid. 
Her vest to zone, her locks to braid ; 

i [MS.— «* So the poor dupes ezclianged esteem. 
Fame, faith, and hononr^^ iat a dream. " 1 
\ f K!"" ®"*^^ *'*■ ae beet her eiie became." 1 
a LMS.-" That who gives all," Ac.] 

* QMS.—" Now most she voaich" 4c.] 

* fM8. " hsr totuting chain." J 



36 TMi BRIDAL OT tuxbrm AiN. Canto If. 

Each varied pleaBUre heard her call. 
The feast, the toazney, and the ball : 
Her storied lore she next applies, 
Taxing her mind to aid her eyes ; 
Now more than mortal wise, and then 
In female softness sunk again ; 
Now, raptured, with each wish complying. 
With feigned reluctance now denying *, 
Each charm she varied, to retain 
A varying heart ^— and all in vain ! 

V. 

^ Thus in the garden^ narrow bound. 
Flanked by some castle^s Gothic round. 
Fain would the artiste skill provide, 
The limits of his realms to hide. 
The walks in labyrinths he twines. 
Shade after shade with skill combines. 
With many a varied flowery knot. 
And copse, and aiboar, decks the spot. 
Tempting the hasty foot to stay. 

And linger on the lovely way 

Vain art ! vain hope t *tM fruitless aH ! 
At length we reach the bounding wall, 
And, sick of flower and trim-drees*d tree. 
Long for rough glades and forest free. 



1 ["As aome fair female, nnadorn'd aad plain, 
Secure to please while youth oonflrmB her reign, 
Slights every bonrow*d charm that dren rappliet, 
Nor ahajrea with art the triamph «f hw eyes ; 
But when those chamu are paist, for diarma ait frail. 
When time advaaoea, and when loTera &il. 
She then shinea forth, adUdtona to bleaa, 
In all the glaring impotence of dreaa."— Qo^I>sllITH.^ 



(hnto II. THB BRIDAL OP TRIKRMAIH. S7 

VI. 
** Three summer months had acantly flown, 
When Arthur, in embarrass'd tone, 
Spoke of his liegemen and his throne ; 
Said, all too long had been his stay. 
And duties, which a monarch sway, 
Duties, unknown to humbler men. 
Must tear her knight from Ouendolen.— . 
She listenM silently the while. 
Her mood expressed in bitter smile ;^ 
Beneath her eye must Arthur quail. 
And oft resume the unfinish'd tale,* 
Confessing, by his downcast eye. 
The wrong he sought to justify. 
He ceased. A moment mute she gazed, 
And then her looks to heaven she raised ; 
One palm her temples veiPd, to hide' 
The tear that sprung in spite of pride ; 
The other for an instant pressed 
The foldings of her silken ?est ! 

VII. 

** At her reproachful sign and look. 
The hint the Monarches conscience took. 
Eager he spoke — * Ko, lady, no ! 
Deem not of British Arthur so. 
Nor think he can deserter prove . 
To the dear pledge of mutual love. 
I swear by sceptre and by sword. 
As belted knight and Biitain*s lord, 

I CMS.—" Wreathed were her lips in hitter smUc."] 

f [MS. " his broken tale. 

With downcast eye and flashing eheeks, 
As one who 'gainst his conscience speaks."] 

s [MS.—" One hand her temples press'd to hide."] ' 



88 TUB BRIDAL OP TRISEMAIN. Cafdo II, 

That if a boy shall claim my care. 

That boy is bom a kingdom^s heir ; 

But, if a maiden Fate allows, 

To choose that maid a fitting spouse, 

A smnmer-4a7 in lists shall strive 

My knightsy— 4he bravest knights alive, — 

And he, the best and bravest tried. 

Shall Arthur*s daughter claim for bride.*— 

He spoke, with voice resolved and high— 

The lady deignVl him not reply. 

VIII. 
" At dawn of morn, ere on the brake 
His matins did a warbler make,* 
Or stirr'd his wing to brush away 
A single dewdrop from the spray. 
Ere yet a simbeam, through the mist, 
The castle-battlements had kissed. 
The gates revolve, the drawbridge &lls, 
And Arthur sallies from the walls. 
DoiF'd his soft garb of Persia's loom, 
And steel from spur to helmet-plume. 
His Lybian steed full proudly trode. 
And joyful neigh'd beneath his load. 
The Monarch gave a passing sigh 
To penitence* and pleasures by. 
When, loj to his astonished ken 
Appeared the form of Guendolen. 

IX. 

*^ Beyond the outmost wall she stood. 
Attired like huntress of the wood : 

1 CMS.—" A tingle warbler wss awake."] 
« [mS.— " To deep remone.**] 



L 



CmiiO II. TUX BEIDAL OV TUIBMAIN. 39 

Sandall'd her feet, her ankles bare,^ 
And eagle-plumage deck*d her hair ; 
Finn was her look, her bearing bold. 
And in her hand a cup of gold. 
* Thou goest ! * she said, * and ne*er again 
Must we two meet, in joy or pain. 
Full fiiin would I this hour delay. 
Though weak the wish — ^yet wilt thou stay ? 
.No! thou looklrt forward. Still attend,— 
Part we like lover and like fiiend.* 
She raised the cupb»* Not this the juice 
The sluggish vines of earth produce ; 
Pledge we, at parting, in the draught 
Which Genii love ! '-.4ihe said and quaff 'd ; 
And strange unwonted lustres fly 
From her flushed cheek and aporiding eye. 

X. 

" The courteous Monarch bent him low. 
And, stooping down from saddlebow, 
Lifted the cup, in act to drink. 
A drop escaped the goblet^i brink— 
' Intense as liquid lire from hell. 
Upon the chaiger^s neck it fbll. 
Screaming with agony and firight. 
He bolted twenty feet upright— 
— ^The peasant still can show the dint. 
Where his hoofs lighted on the flint.— 
From Arthur's hand the goblet flew. 
Scattering a shower of fieiy dew,* 

1 [M8^<< Her anus and boaUa'd feet wen bare."] 
« MS. « •'{^f }^n 



40 TH£ BRIDAL OP TRIERUAIN. Cklttto II, 

That burnM and blighted where it fell ! * 
The frantic steed rushM up the dell,' 
As whistles from the bow the reed ; 
Nor bit nor rein could check his speed, 

Until he gainM the hill ; 
Then breath and sinew failed apace. 
And, reeling from the desperate race, 

He stood, exhausted, still. 
The Monarch, breathless and amazed. 

Back on the fatal castle gazed 

Nor tower nor donjon could he spy, 
Darkening against the morning sky ! ' 
But on the spot where once they frowned. 
The lonely streamlet brawl'd around 
A tufted knoU, where dimly shone 
Fragments of rock and rifted stoned 
Musing on this strange hap the while. 
The King wends back to fair Carlisle ; 
And cares, that cumber royal sway. 
Wore memory of the past away. 



I The author has an indiatinct recollection of an adventure 
somewhat nmilar to that which is here ascribed to King Arthur, 
haring befallen one of the ancient Kings of Denmark. The horn 
in which the burning liquor was presented to that Monarch, is 
said still to be preserved in the Boyal Museum in Copenhagen. 

< [MS.—*' Curb, bit, and bridle he disdain'd. 
Until a mountain crest he gain'd. 
Then stopp'd ;— exhausted, all amased. 
The rider down the valley gazed. 
But tower nor donjon," dec] 

s See Appendix, Note C. 

* [MS.—" But on the spot where once they frown'd 
The stream begirt a silvan monn^ 
With zocks in shatter'd iragmenti crownU"] 



Canto 11, THI BKUiAL OK TRI£ilMAlN. 41 

XI. 

** Full fifteen yean, and more, were sped. 

Each brought new wreaths to Arthur's head. 

Twelve bloody fields, with glory fought, 

The Saxons to subjection brought :* 

Rython, the mighty giant, slain 

By his good brand, relieved Bretagne : 

The Pictiflh Gillamore in fight. 

And Roman Lucius, ownM his might ; 

And wide were through the world renownM^ 

The glories of his Table Round. 

Ekich knight, who sought adventurous fame. 

To the bold court of Britain came. 

And all who sufi^er'd causeless wrong. 

From t}'rant proud, or faitour stronjif. 

Sought Arthur*s presence, to complain, 

Nor there for aid implored in vain.' 

XII. 
** For this the King, with pomp and pride. 
Held solemn court at Whitsuntide, 

And summoned Prince and Peer, 
AU who owed homage for their land. 
Or who craved knighthood from his hand. 
Or who had succour to demand. 

To come from far and near. 
At such high tide, where glee and game 
Mingled with feats of martial fame. 
For many a stranger champion came, 



> Arthur is said to hare defeated the Saxons in twelve pitched 
battles, and to hare achieved the other feats alluded to in the next. 

> [MS.— " And wide was blazed the world around."] 

> [MS. — " Souf^t before Arthur to complain. 

Nor there for succour sued in vain."] 



42 TUX BRIDAL OF TRURMAIN. Cottto II. 

In lists to break a spear ; 
And not a knight of Arthur's host, 
Save that he trode some foreign coast. 
But at this feast of Pentecost 

Before him must appear. 
Ah, Minstrels ! when the Table Round 
Arose, with all its warriors crownM, 
There was a theme for baids to sound 

In triumph to their string ! 
Five hundred years are past and gone, 
But Time shall draw his dying groan. 
Ere he behold the British throne 

Begirt with such a ring ! 

XIIL 

^^ The heralds named the appointed spot. 
As Caerleon or Gamelot, 

Or Carlisle fair and free. 
At Penrith, now, the feast was set. 
And in fair Eamont's vale were met 

The flower of Chivalry. 
There Galaad sate with manly grace. 
Yet maiden meekness in his fiice ; 
There Morolt of the iron mace,^ 

And love-lorn Tristrem there : 
And Dinadam with lively glance. 
And Lanval with the &iry lance. 
And Mordred with his look askance, 

Brunor and Bevidere. 
Why should I tell of numbers more ? 
Sir Cay, Sir Banier, and Sir Bore, 

Sir Carodac the keen. 
The gentle Gawain's courteous lore, 

1 See Appendix, Note D. 



^ 



Canto II. THE BRIDAL OF TIUERMAIN. 43 

Hector de Mares and PelUnore, 
And Lancelot,^ that ever more 

Look'd stoPn-wise on the Queen.* 

XIV. 

" When wine and mirth did most abound. 
And harpers play'd their blithest round, 
A shrilly trumpet shook the ground. 

And marshals cleared the ring ; 
A maiden, on a palfrey white. 
Heading a band of damsels bright. 
Paced through the circle, to alight 

And kneel before the King. 
Arthur, with strong emotion, saw 
Her graceful boldness checked by awe, 
Her dress like huntress of the wold. 
Her bow and baldric trapped with gold, 
Her sandalled feet, her ankles bare,^ 
And tiie eagle-plume that decked her hair. 

Graceful her veil she backward flung 

The King, as from his seat he sprung. 

Almost cried, * Guendolen 1 * 

But ^was a face more frank and wild, 

Betwixt the woman and the child. 

Where less of magic beauty smiled 

' [MS. — *' And Launcelot for evennore 

That wowrd upon the acene."] 
' See Appendix, Note E. 
» I.lf S.— " The King with strong emotion saw, 
• Hgyf dignity and mingled ^^^^ 

\ strange attire, her reverend / 

Attired \ j-j^^ huntress of the wold, * 
Her dress f 

Her silken buskins braced with gold, 
Her / -""iaU'd feet, her j ^^^j^ ,, 

i arms and buskm d i 
And eagle-plumes," Ac] 



4 i THB BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. CufltO If. 

Than of the race of men ; 
And in tlie forehead^s haughty grace, 
The lines of Britain^B royal race,* 

Pendragon% you might ken. 

XV. 

" Faltering, yet gracefully she said — 
' Great Prince 1 behold an orphan maid. 
In her departed mother^s name, 
A father^s vow'd protection claim I 
The vow was sworn in desert lone, 
In the deep valley of St. John.' 
At once the King the suppliant raised. 
And kiss'd her brow, her beauty praised ; 
His vow, he said, should well be kept. 
Ere in the sea the sun was dipp'd, — * 
Then, conscious, glanced upon his queen : 
But she, unruffled at the scene. 
Of human frailty construed mild, 
Looked upon Lancelot and smiled. 

XVT. 
" * Up I up ! each knight of gallant crest 
Take buckler, spear, and brand ! 

1 [MS.—" The lineaments of rojal race."] 

s [Mr. AdolphuB, in commenting on the similarity of manners 
in the ladies of Sir Walter Scott's poetry, and those of his then 
anonymous Novels, says, " In Rokeby, the filial attachment and 
duteous anxieties of Matilda form the leading feature of her cha- 
racter, and the chief source of her distresses. The intercourse be- 
tween King Arthur and his daughter Oyneth, in The Bridal of 
Triennain, is neither long nor altogether amicable ; but the mo- 
narch's feelings on first beholding that beantiiul ' slip of wUder- 
ncsH,' and his manner of receiving her before the Queen and Court, 
are too forcibly and naturally described to be omitted in thi> enu- 
meration."— /i^ffer/ an the Author tf fFaverteif, 1823, p. 219.1 



CatttO II. THS BRIDAL OF TAIBRMAIN. 45 

He that to-day ihall bear him beit. 

Shall win my Oyneth'i hand. 
And Aithu'^ daughter, when a bride» 

Shall bring a noble dower ; 
Both fair Strath-Clyde and Beged wide. 

And Carlisle town and tower/ 
Then might you hear each valiant knight 

To page and iqtiire that cried, 
' Bring my annour bright, and my courier wight ! 
Til not each day that a wanior^s might 

May win a royal bride.* 
Then cloaks and caps of maintenance 

In haste aside they fling ; 
The helmets glance, and gleams the lance. 

And the steel-weaved hauberks ring. 
Small care had they of their peaceful arrfty, 

They might gather it that wolde ; 
For brake and brunble glitterM gay. 

With pearls and doth of gold. 

XVII. 
^ Witiiin trumpet sound of the Table Round 

Were fifty champions free. 
And they all arise to fight that prize«-» 

They all arise, but three. 
Nor love*s fond troth, nor wedlodi's oath, 

One gallant could withhold. 
For priests will allow of a broken vow, 

For penance or iat gold. 
But sig^ and glance from ladies bright 

Among the troop were thrown. 
To plead their right, and true-love plight. 

And plain of honour fiowli. 
The knights they busied them so fast. 



45 THE BUIDAL OF TRIERMAIX. CautO II. 

With buckling spur and belt. 
That sigh and look, by ladies cast, 

Were neither seen nor felt 
From pleading, or upbraiding glance, 

Each gallant turns aside. 
And only thought, ' If speeds my lance, 

A queen becomes my biide ! 
She has fair Strath* Clyde, and Reged wide, 

And Carlisle tower and town ■, 
She is the loveliest maid, beside, 

That ever heir'd a crown.' 
So in haste their coursers they bestride. 

And strike their visors down. 

XVIII. 
** The champions, arm*d in martial sort, 

Have thronged into the list. 
And but three knights of Arthur's court 

Are from the tourney miss'd. 
And still these lovers' fame survives 

For faith so constant shown, — 
There were two who loved their neighbour's wives. 

And one who loved his own.^ 
The first was Lancelot de Lac, 

The second Tristrem bold. 
The third was valiant Carodac, 

Who won the cup of gold,* 
"What time, of all King Arthur's crew, . 

(Thereof came jeer and laugh,) 

1 See Appendix, Note F. 

s See the comic tale of The Boy and the Mantle, in the third to- 
lume of Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry, from the Breton or 
Norman original of which Ariosto is supposed to have taken his 
Tale of the Enchanted Cup. 



CuntC IT. THB BRIDAL OP TRISAMAIN. 4? 

He, as the mate of lady true, 

Alone the cup could quaff. 
Though envy*B ton^e would fkin surmiBe, 

That, but for very shame. 
Sir Caiodac, to fight that prize, 

Had given both cup and dame ; 
Yet, since but one of that fair court 

Was true to wedlock's shrine, 
Brand him who will with base report,— 

He shall be free from mine. 

XTX. 

** Now caracord the steeds in air, 
Now plumes and pennons wantonM fuir, 
As all around the lists so wide 
In panoply the champions ride. 
King Arthur saw, with startled eye, 
The flower of chivalry march by, 
Tlie bulwark of the Christian creed. 
The kingdom's shield in hour of need. 
Too late he thought him of the woe 
Might from their civil conflict flow ; 
For well he knew they would not part 
Till cold was many a gallant heart. 
His hasty vow he 'gan to rue, 
And Gyneth then apart he drew ; 
To her his leading-staff icsign'd. 
But added caution grave and kind, 

XX. 

" * Thou see'st, my child, as promise-bound, 



I bid the trump for tourney sound. 
Take thou my warder, as the queen 
And umpire of the martial scene ; 



43 THX BRIDAL OF TRIBRMAIN. Canto If, 



But mark thou this : — as Beauty bright 
Is polar star to valiant knight. 
As at her word his sword he draws. 
His Purest guerdon her applause. 
So gentle maid should never ask 
Of knighthood vain and dangerous task ; 
And Beauty^s eyes should ever be 
Like the twin stars that soothe the sea. 
And Beauty^s breath shall whisper peace. 
And bid the storm of battle cease. 
I tell thee this, lest all too far 
These knights urge tourney into war. 
Blithe at the trumpet let them go. 
And furly counter blow for blow -, — 
No striplings these, who succour need 
For a razed helm or falling steed. 
But, Gyneth, when the strife grows warm. 
And threatens death or deadly harm. 
Thy sire entreats, thy king commands. 
Thou drop the warder from thy bands. 
Trust thou thy father with thy fate. 
Doubt not he choose thee fitting mate ; 
Nor be it said, through Gyneth^s pride 
A rose of Arthur^ chaplet died.^ 

XXI. 
^^ A proud and discontented glow 
O'ershadow'd Gyneth 's brow of snow ; 

She put the warder by : — 
^ Reserve thy boon, my liege,' she said, 
^ Thus chaiFer'd down and limited. 
Debased and narrowed, for a nuud 

Of less degree than I. 



Canto If. THB BRIDAL OF nUSMf AXN. 49 

No petty chief, but holds his heir 
At a more honour*d price and rare 
Than Britain^s King holds me ! 
Although the sun-bumM maid, for dower, 
' Has but her fstther^ rugged tower. 

His barren hill and lee.* 
King Arthur swore, * By crown and sword. 
As belted knight and Britain^s lord. 
That a whole summer^S day should strive 
His knights, the bravest knights alive I*-^ 
' Recal thine oath I and to her glen 
Poor Gyneth can return agen ; 
Not on thy dauglhter will the stain. 
That soils thy sword and crown, remain. 
But think not she will e*er be bride 
Save to the bravest, proved and tried ; 
Pendragon^s daughter will not fear 
For clashing sword or splintered spear, 

Nor shrink though blood should flow *, 
And all too well sad Guendolen 
Hath taught the fiuthlessness of men. 
That child of hers should pity, when 

Their meed they undergo/ 

XXII. 
^ He finown^d and sighed, the Monarch bold :— 
* I give— what I may not withhold ; 
For, not for danger, dread, or death. 
Must British Arthur break his fiuth. 
Too late I mark, thy mother*s art 
Hath taught thee this relentless part 
I blame her not, for she had wrong. 
But not to these my ffiults belong. 




50 THX BRIDAL OF TRISRAf AIN. Canlo If. 

Use, then, the warder aa thou wilt ; 
But trust me, that, if life be spilt,^ 
In Arthur^s love, in Arthur^s grace, 
Gyneth shall lose a daughter's place/ 
With that he turned his head aside, 
Nor brooked to gaze upon her pride. 
As, with the truncheon raised, she sate 
The arbitress of mortal fate ; 
Nor brooked to mark, in ranks disposed. 
How the bold champions stood opposed. 
For shrill the trumpet-flourish fell 
Upon his ear like passing bell !' 
Then first from sight of martial fray 
Did Britain's hero turn away. 

XXIII. 

** But Oyneth heard the clangour high, 
As hears the hawk the partridge cry. 
Oh, blame her not I the blood was hers. 
That at the trumpetis siunmons stirs ! — 
And e'en the gentlest female eye 
Might the brave strife of chivalry 

A while untroubled view ; 
So well accompb'sh'd was each knight. 
To strike and to defend in fight. 
Their meeting was a goodly sight. 

While plate and mail held true. 
The lists with painted plumes were strown. 
Upon the wind at random thrown. 
But helm and breastplate bloodless shone. 
It seem'd their feather'd crests alone 

Should this encounter rue. 

1 [MS. ** if blood be spilt"] 

a [MS. " dying kneU."l 



Cattto II. THB BRIDAL OF TRI£RMAIN. 51 

And ever, as the combat grows. 
The trumpet's cheery voice arose. 
Like Lirk*8 shrill song the flourish flows. 
Heard while the gale of April blows 
The merry greenwood through. 

XXIV. 

*^ But soon to earnest grew their game. 

The spears drew blood, the swords struck flame. 

And, horse and man, to ground there came 

Knights, who shall rise no more ! 
Gone was the pride the war that graced. 
Gay shields were cleft, and crests defaced, 
And steel coats riven, and helms unbraced, 

And pennons streamed with gore. 
Gone, too, were fence and £ur array. 
And desperate strength nuide deadly way 
At random through the bloody fray. 
And blows were dealt with headlong sway, 

Unheeding where they fell ; 
And now the trumpet's chunours seem 
Like the shrill sea-bird's wailing scream. 
Heard o'er the whirlpool's gulfing stream. 

The sinking seaman's knell ! 

XXV. 

'' Seem'd in this dismal hour, that Fate 
Would Camlan's ruin antedate. 

And spare dark Mordred'b crime ; 
Already gasping on the ground 
Lie twenty of the Table Round, 

Of chivalry the prime.' 

1 See Appendix, Note O. 



53 THB BRIDAL OP TRISRlf AIN. Conto IT. 

Arthur, in anguisln tore away 

From head and beard his tresses gray. 

And she, proud Gyneth, felt dismay. 

And quaked with ruth and fear ; 
But still she deemed her mother''s shade 
Hung o*er the tumult, and forbade 
The sign that had the slaughter staid. 

And chid the rising tear. 
Then Bnmor, Taulas, Mador, fell, 
Helias the White, and Lionel, 

And many a champion more ; 
Rochemont and Dinadam are down. 
And Ferrand of the Forest Brown 

Lies gasping in his gore. 
Vanoc, by mighty Morolt pressed 
Even to the confines of the list. 
Young Vanoc of the beardless face, 
(Fame spoke the youth of Merlin^s race,) 
O^erpowerM at Oyneth^s footstool bled. 
His heart Vblood dyed her sandals red. 
But then the sky was overcast. 
Then howPd at once a whirlwind^s blast. 

And, rent by sudden throes, 
YawnM in mid lists the quaking earth. 
And from the gulf, — tremendous birth !.— 

The form of Merlin rose. 

XXVI. 
*« Sternly the Wizard Prophet eyed 
The dreary lists with slaughter dyed, 

And sternly raised his hand : — 
' Madmen,* he said, * your strife forbear ! 
And thou, fair cause of mischief, hear 

The doom thy fates demand ! 



7Pi""H*aiiv 



Canto IT, TH« liEIDAL OF TRIERM AZN. (3 

Long shall close in stonj sleep 
Eyes for ruth that would not weep ; 
Iron lethaigy shall seal 
Heart that pity scorned to feel. 
. Yet, because thy mother^ art 
Warped thine unsuspicious heart, 
And for love of Arthur's race. 
Punishment is blent with grace. 
Thou shalt bear thy penance lone 
In the valley of Saint John, 
And this weird ^ shall overtake thee ; 
Sleep, until a knight shall wake thee. 
For feats of arms as &r renowned 
As warrior of the Table Round. 
Long endurance of thy slumber 
WeU may teach the world to number 
All their woes from Gyneth'b pride, 
When the Bed Cross champions died.* 

XXVIL 
** As Merlin speaks, on 6yneth*8 eye 
Slumber's load begins to lie ; 
Fear and anger vainly strive 
Still to keep its light aUve. 
Twice, with effort and with pause. 
O'er her brow her hand she draws ; 
• Twice her strength in vain tike tries^ 
From the &tal chair to rise ; 
Merlin's magic doom is spoken, * 
Yanoc's death must now be wroken. 
Slow the dark-fringed eyelids &11» 
Curtaining each azure ball* 

' Doom. 



54 TRB BIUOAL OF TRRRMAIN. ContO TL 

Slowly aa on flummer eves 
Violets fold their duskj leaves. 
The weighty baton of command 
Now bears dowii her sinking hand. 
On her shoulder droops her head ; 
Net of pearl and golden thread. 
Bursting, gave her locks to flow 
O'er her arm and breast of snow. 
And so lovely seem'd she there, 
Spell-bound in her ivory chair. 
That her angry sire, repenting. 
Craved stem Merlin for relenting, 
And the champions, for her sake. 
Would again the contest wake ; 
Till, in necromantic night, 
Gyneth vanished from their sight. 

XXVIII. 
'' Still she bears her weird alone. 
In the Valley of Saint John ; 
And her semblance oft will seem. 
Mingling in a champion's dream, 
Of her weary lot to plain. 
And crave his aid to burst her chain. 
While her wondrous tale was new, 
Warriors to her rescue drew. 
East and west, and south and north. 
From the Liffy, Thames, and Forth. 
Most have sought in vain the glen. 
Tower nor castle could they ken ; 
Not at every time or tide. 
Nor by every eye, descried. 
Fast and vigil must be borne. 
Many a night in watching won, 



Canto II. THI BRIDAL OP TRIBBMAIN. 55 

Ere an eye of mortal powen 
Can discern those magic towen. 
Of the perseyering few. 
Some from hopeless task withdrew, 
When they read the dismal threat 
Grayed upon the gloomy gate. 
Few haye brayed the yawning door. 
And those few returned no more. 
In the lapse of time forgot, 
Wellnlgh lost is Oyneth'S lot ; 
Sound her deep as in the tomb. 
Till waken*d by the tmmp of doom." 



IND OF LYULPH*8 TALI. 



56 THB BRIDAL OP TIUXRICAIN. CufitO II. 



Here pause, my tale ; for all too soon, 
M J Lucy, comes the hour of noon. 
Already from thy lofty dome 
Its courtly inmates *gin to roam. 
And each, to kill the goodly day 
That God has granted them, his way 
Of lazy sauntering has sought ; 

Lordlings and witlings not a few. 
Incapable of doing aught. 
Yet ill at ease with nought to do. 
Here is no longer place for me ; 
For, Lucy, thou wouldst blush to see 
Some phantom, fashionably thin. 
With limb of lath and kerchieTd chin, 
And lounging gape, or sneering grin, 
Steal sudden on our privacy. 
And how should I, so humbly bom. 
Endure the gracefiil spectre^s scorn ? 
Faith ! ill, I fear, while conjuring wand 
Of English oak is haxd at hand. 

II. 

Or grant the hour be all too soon 
For Hessian boot and pantaloon. 
And grant the lounger seldom strays 
Beyond the smooth and gravelled maze, 
Laud we the gods, that Fashion^s train 
Holds hearts of more adyenturous strain. 
Artists are hers, who scorn to trace 
Their rules from Nature's boimdless grace. 
But their right paramount assert 
To limit her by pedant art. 



CaniO II, THB BRIDAL OF TRIZUIAIN. 97 

Damning whatever of rart and fiur 
Exceeds a canvaas three feet iquare. 
This thicket, for their gumptum fit, 
May fumiih such a happy bit, 
fiardsy too, are hers, wont to recite 
Their own sweet hiys by waxen light. 
Half in the salrer's tin^e dtown^d. 
While the thaa^-ea/t glides around i 
And such may hither secret stray. 
To labour an extempore : 
Or sportsman, with his boisterous hollo. 
May here his wiser spaniel follow. 
Or stage-struck JuUet may presume 
To choose this bower for tirin^room ; 
And we alike must shun regard. 
From painter, player, sportsman, bard. 
Insects that skim in Fashion^s sky. 
Wasp, blue-bottle, or butterfly, 
Lucy, have all alarms for us. 
For all can hum and all can buzs. 

IIL 
But oh, my XiOcy, say how long 
We still must drrad this trifling throng, 
And stoop to hide, with coward art, 
The genuine feelings of the heart I 
No parents thine, whose just command 
Should rule their child's obedient hand ; 
Thy guardians, with contending yoice. 
Press each his individual choice. 
And which is Lucy*s ?— Can it be 
That puny fop, trimmed cap-a-pie. 
Who loves in the saloon to show 
The arms that never knew a foe *, 



58 THE BRIDAL OP TRIERHAIN. CatUo ll. 

Whose sabre trails along the ground. 
Whose legs in shapeless boots are drowned ; 
A new Achilles, soie^— the steel 
Fled fh>m his breast to fence his heel ; 
One, for the simple manlj grace 
That wont to deck our martial race. 

Who comes in fdreign trashery 
Of tinkling chain and spur, 

A walking haberdashery. 
Of feathers, lace, and fur : 
In Rowley^s antiquated phrase, 
Hone-miUiner ^ of modem days ? 

IV. 

Or is it he, the wordy youth, 
So early trained for statesman^ part. 

Who talks of honour, faith, and truth. 
As themes that he has got by heart : 
Whose ethics Chesterfield can teach. 
Whose logic is from Single-speech ;* 
Who scorns the meanest thought to rent. 
Save in the phrase of Parliament ; 
Who, in a tale of cat and mouse, 
Calls ** order,** and ** divides the house. 
Who *• cmves permission to reply," 
Whose '* noble friend is in his eye ;** 
Whose loving tender some have reckoned 
A tnoHon^ you should gladly second 9 



I " The tnxnmelB of the palfraye pleased his tight. 
And the kartMnUUmert his head with roses dight." 

Rowlct'b BaBadi qfChariiie. 
> [See " Farliamentarj Logic, 6tc., by the Right Honourable 
William Oerard Hamilton,** (180Q,) commonly called " Sioglt- 
8pe«ch HamUton."! 



I 



Canto //. THI BRIDAL OF TRIBIUfAXN. 59 

V. 

What, neither ? Cui there be a third. 
To Buch renstlen iwaiiit preferred ?— 
O why, my Lucy, turn aaide. 
With that quick glance of injuied pride ? 
Foigive me, love, I cannot bear 
That altered and resentftU air. 
Were all the wealth of Ruaiell mine, 
And all the rank of Howaxd^s line. 
All would I give for leave to dry 
That drewdrop trembling in thine eye. 
Think not I fear such fopi can wile 
From Lucy more than careleis smile ; 
But yet if wealth and high degree 
Give gilded counters currency, 
Must I not fear, when rank and birth 
Stamp the pure ore of genuine worth ? 
Noblef there are, whose martial fires 
Bival the &me that raised their sires. 
And patriots, skiird through storms cf fate 
To guide and guard the reeling state. 
Such, such there are— If such should come, 
Arthur must tremble and be dumb, 
Self-exil*d seek some distant shore. 
And mourn till life and grief are o*er. 

VL 

What sight, what signal of alam^ 
That Lucy clings to Arthur*s arm ? 
Or is it, that the rugged way 
Hakes Beauty lean on lover*s stay ? 
Oh, no ! for on the vale and brake. 
Nor sight nor soundi of danger wake, 



60 rUB BAIDAL OF TBIERMAIN. ConiO II, 

And this trim sward of velvet green. 
Were caipet for the Fairy Queen. 
That pressure slight was but to tell. 
That Lucy loves her Arthur well. 
And fledn would banish from his mind 
Suspicious fear and doubt unkind. 

VII. 
But wouldst thou bid the demons fly 
Like mist before the dawnisig sky, 
There is but one resistless spell— -^ 
Say, wilt thou guess, or must I tell ? 
Twere hard to name, in minstrel phrase, 
A landaulet and four blood-bays. 
But bards agree this wizard band 
Can but be bound in Northern land. 
Tis there — nay, draw not back thy hand !— . 
Tis there this slender finger round 
Must golden amulet be bound. 
Which, blessed with many a holy prayer. 
Can change to rapture lovers* care, 
And doubt and jealousy shall die. 
And fears give place to ecstacy. 

VIIL 

Kow, trust me, Lucy, all too long 
Has been thy lover's tale and song. 
O, why 60 silent, love, I pray ? 
Have I not spoke the livelong day ? 
And will not Lucy deign to say 

One word her friend to bless ? 
I ask but one— a simple sound, 
Within three little letters bound, 

O, let the word be YES ! 



t 61 I 



TUK 



BRIDAL OP TRIERMAIN. 



CANTO THIRD. 



INTBODUCTION. 

I. 

Long loved, long woo'd, and lately won. 
My lifers be§t hope, and now mine own I 
Doth not this rude and Alpine glen 
Recall our &TOurite haunts agen ? 
A wild resemblance we can trace. 
Though reft of every softer grace, 
As the rough wairior*s brow may bear 
A likeness to a sister fiiir. 
Full well advised our Highland host, 
That this wild pass on foot be crossed, 
WhUe round Ben-Cruach^s mighty base 
Wheel the slow steeds and lingering chaise. 
The keen old carle, with Scottish pride. 
He praised his glen and mountains wide ; 



62 THR BRIDAL OP TRIBRMAIN. OuUo III, 

An eye he bears for nature*8 face, 
Aj, and for woman^s lovely grace. 
Even in such mean degree we find 
The subtle Scot^s observing mind ; 
For, nor the chariot nor the train 
Could gape of vulgar wonder gain. 
But when old Allan would expound 
Of Beal-na-paish^ the Celtic sound. 
His bonnet doiFM, and bow, applied 
His legend to my bonny bride ; 
While Lucy blush'd beneath his eye. 
Courteous and cautious, shrewd and sly. 

II. 

Enough of him. — Now, ere we lose. 

Plunged in the vale, the distant views. 

Turn thee, my love I look back once more 

To the blue lakers retiring shore. 

On its smooth breast the shadows seem 

Like objects in a morning dream, \ 

What time the slumberer is aware I 

He sleeps, and all the vision^s air : 

Even so, on yonder liquid lawn. 

In hues of bright reflection drawn. 

Distinct the shaggy mountains lie. 

Distinct the rocks, distinct the sky ; 

The tommer-clouds so plain we note. 

That we might count each dappled spot : 

We gaze and we admire, yet know 

The scene is all delusive show. 

Such dreams of bliss* would Arthur draw 

When first his Lucy^s foran he saw ! 

1 Beal-narpaiah, the Vale of the Bridal, 
s CMS.—" Scenee of bli»a."l 



QmtO III, THS BtLlDAL OP TAIBMiAIK. C3 

Yet iigh*d and ficken*d at he dreir, 
Despairing they could e*er prove true ! 

III. 
But, Lucy, turn thee now, to view 

Up the fiur glen, our destined way : 
The &iry path that we punme, 
DistingiUsh^d but by greener hue. 

Winds round tiie purple brae, 
While Alpine flowers of varied dye 
For carpet serve, or tapestry. 
See how the little runnels leap. 
In threads of silver, down the steep. 

To swell the brooklet*s moan ! 
Seems that the Highland Naiad grieves, 
Fantastic while her crown she weaves. 
Of rowan, birch, and alder leaves, 

So lovely and so lone. 
There*s no illusion there ; these flowers. 
That wailing brook, these lovely bowers, 

Are, Lucy, all our own ; 
And, since thine Arthur call*d thee wife. 
Such seems the prospect of his life, 
A lovely path, on-winding still. 
By gurgling brook and sloping hill. 
TTis true, that mortals cannot tell 
What waits them in the distant dell ; 
But be it hap, or be it harm. 
We tread the pathiray arm in arm. 

IV. 
And now, my Lucy, wotVt thou why 
I could thy bidding twice deny. 



$4 THB BRIDAL OP T11IERM4XN. ContO III. 

When twice you pray'd I would again 
Resume the legendary strain 
Of the bold Knight of Triermain ? 
At length yon peevish vow you swore, 
That you would sue to me no more.* 
Until the minstrel fit drew near. 
And made me prize a listening ear. 
But, loveliest, when thou first didst pray 
Continuance of the knightly lay, 
Was it not on the happy day 

That made thy hand mine own ? 
When, dizzied with mine ecstasy. 
Nought past, or present, or to be. 
Could I or think on, hear, or see. 

Save, Lucy, thee alone ! 
A giddy draught my rapture was. 
As ever chemist^s magic gas. 

V. 

Again the summons T denied 
In yon fair capital of Clyde : 

My Harp or let me rather choose ^ 

The good old classic form— my Muse, 
(For Harp's an over-scutched phrase. 
Worn out by bards of modem days,) 
My Muse, then — seldom will she wake, 
Save by dim wood and silent lake ; 
She is the wild and rustic Maid, 
Whose foot unsandall'd loves to tread 
Where the soft greensward is inhiid 
With varied moss and thyme ; 



1 CMS.—" Unta yon peeviali oath you swore, 
That you would sue for it no more."] 



Canto III, THB BRIDAL OP TRIBRHJklN. 65 

And, lest the simple lily-braid. 
That coronets her temples, fiule. 
She hides her still in greenwood shade, 
To meditate her rhjrme. 

VI. 

And now she comes 1 The muimnr dear 
Of the wild brook hath caught her ear. 

The glade hath won her eye ; 
She longs to join with each blithe riU 
That dances down the Highland hill. 

Her blither melody.^ 
And now, my Lucy^ miy to cheer. 
She bids Ben-Cruach^ echoes hear 
How closed the tale, my love whllere 

Loved for its chivalry. 
List how she teUs, in notes of flame, 
^ Child Roland to the dark tower came I *** 



I [MS.-." Her wUd>wood melody."] 
> [The M9. haa not fUi oonplet.] 



[ 67 ] 



THB 



BBIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



CANTO THIRD. 



I. 

BxwcASTLB noir must keep the Hold, 

Speir-Adsm^ steeds must bide in stall. 
Of Hartley-bum the bowmen bold 

Must only shoot from battled wall ; 
And liddesdale may buckle spur. 

And Teviot now may belt the biand. 
Tares and Ewes keep nightly stir. 

And Eskdale fomy Cumberland. 
Of wasted fields and plundered flocks 

The Borderers bootless may complain ; 
They lack the sword of breye de Vauz, 

There comes no aid from Tiiexmain* 
That lord, on high adyenture bound. 

Hath wandered forth alone. 
And day and nig^t keeps watchfitl round 

In the Valley of Saint John. 



68 THB BRIDAL OF TRIBRMAIN. OotUo III, 

II. 

When first began his vigil bold, 

The moon twelve summer nights was old, 

And shone both fair and full ; 
High in the vault of cloudless blue, 
O^er streamlet, dale, and rock, she threw 

Her light composed and cool. 
Stretched on the brown hill^s heathy breast. 

Sir Roland eyed the vale ; 
Chief where, distinguish^ from the rest, 
Those clustering rocks uprear^d their crest. 
The dwelling of the fair distressed, 

As told gray Lyulph*8 tale. 
Thus as he lay, the lamp of night 
Was quivering on his armour bright. 

In beams that rose and fell. 
And danced upon his buckler^s boss. 
That lay beside him on the moes, 

As on a crystal well. 

III. 

Ever he wateh'd, and oft he deemM, 

While on the mound the moonlight streamed. 

It altered to his eyes ; 
Fain would he hope the rocks ^gan change 
To buttressed walls their shapeless range. 
Fain think, by transmutation strange, 
He saw gray turrets rise. 
But scarce his heart with hope throbbed high. 
Before the wild illusions fly. 

Which fancy had conceived. 
Abetted by an anxious eye 

That long'd to be deceived. 



^ 



Canto III. TUK BKIDAL OW TKIEKMAIS. 69 

It was a fond deception all. 
Such as, in solitary hall. 

Beguiles the musing eye, 
When, gazing on the sinking fire. 
Bulwark, and hattlement, and spire. 

In the red gulf we spy. 
For, seen by moon of middle night. 
Or by the blaze of noontide bright. 
Or by the dawn of morning light. 

Or eyening^s western flame. 
In every tide, at eyery hour. 
In mist, in sunshine, and in shower, 

The rocks remained the same. 

IV. 

Oft has he traced the charmed mound. 
Oft climb'd its crest, or paced it round. 

Yet nothing might explore, 
Saye that the crags so rudely piled. 
At distance seen, resemblance wild 

To a rough fortress bore. 
Yet still his watch the Waziior keeps. 
Feeds haid and spare, and seldom sleeps, 

And drinks but of the well ; 
£yer by day he walks the lull. 
And when the eyening gale is chill. 

He seeks a rocky cell. 
Like hermit poor to bid his bead. 
And tell his Aye and bis Creed, 
Inyoking every saint at need. 

For aid to burst his spelL 

V. 
And now the moon her orb has hid. 
And dwindled to a silver thread. 






70 TUB BEIOAL Of TBIBRMADf. OeuOo TIL 

Dim seen in middle heayen. 
While o^er its curve caroering fiust. 
Before the fury of the blast 

The midnight clouds are diivem 
The brooklet raved, for on the hills 
The upland showers had swoln the iill% 

And down the torrents came ; 
Muttered the distant thunder dread. 
And frequent o*er the vale was spread 

A sheet of lightning flame. 
De Vaux, within his mountain cave, 
(No human step the storm durst brave,) 
To moody meditation gave i 

Each faculty of soul,^ | 

Till, luird by distant torrent sound. 
And the sad winds that whistled round. 
Upon his thoughts, in musing drown'd« 

A broken slumber stole. 

VI. 
^TWka then was heard a heavy sound, 

(Sound, strange and fearful there to hear, 
*Hong8t desert hills, where, leagues around. 

Dwelt but the gorcock and the deer :) 
As, starting from his couch of fern,* 
A^n he heard, in clangor stem. 

That deep and solemn swell,— 
Twelve times, in measured tone, it spoke. 
Like some proud minster^ pealing clock. 
Or city^s larum-bell. 

1 [MS.—** Hb focnltiei of ionl."] 

» [MS. " hi! conch of rock, 

Again upon hii ear it broka."] 



Canio III, nu BEioit of TBinxAur. 71 

What thought wai Bolaiid'k fint when fell. 
In that deep wildemesi, the knell 

Upon his startled ear ? 
To Blander warrior were I loth. 
Yet must I hold my minstrel trothr— 

It waa a thought of fear. 

VII. 
But liyely waa the mingled thrill 
That chased that momentary chill. 

For Lore*8 keen wish was there, 
And eager Hope, and Valour high. 
And the proud glow of Chivalry, 

That bum*d to do and dare. 
Forth from tHe care the Warrior rushed 
. Long ere the mountain-voice^ was hushed, 

That answered to the knell ; 
For long and &r the unwonted sound. 
Eddying in echoes round and round. 
Was to8s*d ftom fell to fell ; 
And Glaiamaia answer flung. 
And Grisdale-pike responsiYe rung. 
And Legbert heights their echoes swung. 

As fer as Derwent*B delL* 

1 [M8. I " mingled toirnds were ]niah'd.'n< 

s [** The rock, like iomething itartbig ftom a deep. 
Took up the lady'a voice, and laughed again ; 
That ancient Woman feated on Helm-Crag 
Waa ready with her carem ; Hammai>4car, 
And the tall iteepof Silrer-How, lent forth 
A noise of langhter ; loathem Longhxiffl heard. 
And Fairfield aniwered with a monntiiSn tone ; 
HelreUyn far foto the clear hlne dqr 
Carried the lady'a Toicf»— old Bkiddaw hiew 
Hie •peaUng-tmmpet ;—hack ont of the clouds 
Of Glaramara wrathward came the roice ; 
And KbdoptODt toased it ftom his misty head." 

WOBBSWORTB.l 



72 TUB BftlDAL OP TRZBRMAIN. Canto III, 

VIII. 

Forth upon trackleas darkness gazed 
The Knight, bedeafenM and amazed. 

Till all was hnshM and still, 
Saye the swoln torrents sullen roar. 
And the night-blaat that wildly bore 

Its course along the hill. 
Then on the northern sky there came 
A li^t, as of reflected flame. 

And oyer Legbert-head, - 
As if by magic ait controlled, 
A mighty meteor slowly roird 

Its orb of fiery red ; 
Thou wouldst hate thought some demon dire 
Came mounted on that car of fife^ 

To do his errand dread. 
Far on the sloping valleyls course, 
On thicket, rock, and torrent hoarse, 
Shingle and Scrae,^ and Fell and Force,* 

A dusky light arose : 
Displayed, yet altered was the scene ; 
Dark rock, and brook of silrer sheen. 
Even the gay thicket*s summer green, 

In bloody tincture glows. 

IX. 
De Vauz had marked the sunbeams set. 
At eye, upon the coronet 

Of that enchanted mound. 
And seen but crags at random flung. 
That, o*er the brawling torrent hung,' 

In desolation frowned. 

1 Bank of loose Btonet. > Waterfall, 

a [MS.- ** xocka at random pQed, 

That on the torrent brawling wild."] 



Canto lift TUK BUDAL 0¥ TRmUf AIN. 73 

What eees he by that meteot*§ lour ?«. 
A bannered Cattle, keep, and toirer, 

Betuzn the lurid gleam. 
With battled walls and buttren fiuit. 
And twrbican^ and ballium* vast. 
And airy flanking towen, that cast 
Their thadowi on the stream. 
*TiB no deceit ! dirtinctly clear 
Grenell' and parapet appear. 
While o*er the pile that meteor drear 

Makes momentary pause ; 
Then forth its solemn path it drew, 
And &inter yet and fiunter grew 
Those gloomy towers upon the view. 

As its wild light withdraws. 

X. 

Forth from the cave did Roland rush, 

0*er crag and stream, through brier and bush ; 

Yet fiur he had not sped,^ 
Ere sunk was that portentous light 
Behind the hills, and utter night 

Was on the valley spread.^ 
He paused perforce, — and blew his horn. 
And, on the mountain-echoes bome<^ 

Was heard an answering sound, 
A wild and lonely trumpet-note, — 
In middle air it seem*d to float 

High o*er the battled mound ; 

1 The outer defence of the cattle gate. 

* Fortified court. 

* Aperture* for shooting arrowe. 

4 [MS.——" had not gone."] 

« [MS. " the ralley lone."] 

9 [.lis.-*** And far upon the cchoea borne. "1 



] 



74 THB BBIDAL OF TBISBMAIN. CatOo III* 

And sounds were heard, as when a g^uard 
Of some proud castle, holding ward. 

Pace forth their nightly round. 
The Yaliant knight of Triermain 
Bong forth his challenge-blast again. 

But answer came there none ; 
And mid the mingled wind and rain. 
Darkling he sought the vale in vain,^ 

Until the dawning shone ; 
And when it dawn'd, that wondrous sight, 
Distinctly seen by meteor-light, 

It all had passed away ! 
And that enchanted moimt once more 
A pile of granite fragments bore. 

As at the close of day. 

XI. 

Steerd for the deed, De Vaux^s heart 
Scorned firom his venturous quest to part. 

He walks the vale once more ; 
But only sees, by night or day. 
That shattered pile of rocks so gray. 

Hears but the torrent's roar. 
Till when, through hills of azure borne,' 
The moon renewed her silver horn. 
Just at the time her waning ray 
Had &ded in the dawning day, 

A summer mist arose ; 
Adown the vale the vapours float. 
And cloudy undulations moat^ 



1 [MS " he longht the towen in rain."! 

> [MS.—" But when, through fields of azure borne. "J 
« LMS.^" And with their eddjing bUlows moat."] 



ChntO III, TAB BRIDAL 07 TEIBRIIAIK. 75 

That tufted monnd of mystic note. 

As round its base they close. 
And higher now the fleecy tide 
Ascends its stem and shaggy nde^ 
UntU the airy billows hide^ 

The rock*s majestic isle ; 
It seemed a yeil of filmy lawn. 
By some fimtastie fiuxy drawn* 

Around enchanted pile. 

XIL 

The breeze came softly down the brook,' 

And, sighing as it blew. 
The yell of sil?er mist it shook. 
And to De Vaux*s eager look 

Renewed that wondrous Tiew.' 
For, though the loitering Tapour brayed 
The gentle breeze, yet oft it waved 

Its mantlets dewy fold ; 
And still, when shook that filmy screen. 
Were towers and bastions dimly seen. 
And Gothic battlements between 

Their gloomy length onroli'd. 
Speed, speed, De Vauz, ere on thine eye 
Once more the fleeting vision die I 

— ^The gallant knight can speed 
As prompt and light as, when the hound 
Is opening, and the horn is wound. 

Careers the hunter's steed. 
Down the steep dell his course amain 

Hath rivalled archer's shaft ; 

1 [M 8.^" Until the mist's giej bcMom hide/*] 

s [MS. •• a reU of airy lawn-T 

* See Appendix, NotoH. 



76 THV BRIDAL OF TRIBRMAXN. Conio III, 

But ere the mound he could attain. 
The rockt their shapeless form regain. 
And, mocking loud his labour vain. 
The mountain spirits laugh'd. 
Far up the echoing dell was borne 
Their wild unearthly shout of scorn. 

XIII. 
Wroth wax'd the Warrior.—** Am I then 
Foord by the enemies of men. 
Like a poor hind, whose homeward way 
Is haimted^ by malicious &y ? 
Is Triermain become your taunt, 
De Vaux your scorn ? False fiends, avaunt ! " 
A weighty curtal-axe ho bare ; 
The baleful blade so bright and square, 
And the tough shaft of heben wood. 
Were oft in Scottish gore imbrued. 
Backward his stately form he drew. 
And at the rocks the weapon threw. 
Just where one crag^s projected crest 
Hung proudly balanced o*er the rest. 
HurPd with main force, the weapon's shock 
Rent a huge fragment of the rock. 
If by mere strength, *twere hard to tell, 
Or if the blow dissol?ed some spell. 
But down the headlong ruin came. 
With doud of dust and flash of flame. 
Down bank, o'er bush, its course was borne, 
CrusVd lay the copse, the earth was torn. 
Till staid at length, the ruin dread 
Cumbered the torrent's rocky bed, 

I r.MS.-"lBwttder'd.T 



Oanio III, thb b&ioal of trizrmaik. 77 

And bade the waten* high-siroln tide 
Seek other passage for iU pride.* 

XIV. . 

When ceased that thunder, Triermain V 

Surveyed the mound*8 rude front again ; 

And, lo I the ruin had laid bare. 

Hewn in the stone, a winding stair, 

Whose mossM and fractured steps might lend 

The mea;i8 the summit to ascend ; 

And by whose aid the brave de Yaux 

Began to scale these magic rocks, 

And soon a platform won. 
Where, the wild witchery to close. 
Within three lances* length arose 

The Castle of Saint John I 
No misty phantom of the air. 
No meteor-bIazon*d show was there ; 
In morning splendour, full and &ir. 

The masaive fortress shone. 

XV. 

Embattled high and proudly towered, 
Shaded by ponderous flankers, lowerM 

The portal's gloomy way. 
Though for six hundred years and more, 
Its strength had brookM the tempests roar. 
The scutcheon*d emblems which it bore 

Had sufFer'd no decay : 
But from the eastern battlement 
A turret had made sheer descent. 
And, down in recent ruin rent, 

In the mid torrent lay. 

'. [MS.—" And bade its waten in their pride 
Seek other current for their tide."] 



"S^ 



78 THS BRIDAL OF TRIBRMAIN. CotUo III, 

Else, o*er the CastlelB brow sublime, 
Insults of violence or of time 
Unfelt had pass'd away. 
In shapeless characters of yore, 
The gate this stem inscription bore :— 

XVI. 

^ Patience waits the destined day, 
Strength can dear the cumbered way. 
Warrior, who hast waited long. 
Firm of soul, of sinew strong. 
It is given to thee to gaze 
On the pile of ancient days. 
Never mortal builder^s hand 
This enduring febric plann'd ; 
Sign and sigil, word of power. 
From the earth raised keep and tower. 
View it o*er, and pace it round. 
Rampart, turret, battled mound. 
Dare no more I To cross the gate 
Were to tamper with thy fkte ; 
Strength and fortitude were vain. 
View it o^er— and turn again.**— 

XVII. 
^ That would I,** said the warrior bold, 
** If that my frame were bent and old. 
And my thin blood dropped slow and cold 

As icicle in thaw ; 
But while my heart can feel it dance. 
Blithe as the sparkling wine of France, 
And this good arm wields sword or lance, 

I mock these words of awe ! " 



CandO III, TBI BEIDAL OT TAIBEMAIK. 79 

Henid; the irlcket felt the iwajr 

Of hiB strong hand, and itnught gave vajr. 

And, with rude crash and jaidng bray. 

The ruity bolts withdraw ; 
But o'er the threshold aa he strode, 
And forward took the vaulted road. 
An unseen arm, with force amain. 
The ponderous gate flung close again. 

And rusted bolt and bar 
Spontaneous took their place once more, 
While the deep arch with sullen roar 

Returned their surly jar. 
** Now closed is the gin and the prey within 

By the Rood of Lanercost I 
But he that would win the waivwolTii skin, 

May rue him of his boast.'* 
Thus muttering, on the Warrior went. 
By dubious light down steep descent 

XVIII. 
Unbarr'd, nnlock*d« unwatch*d, a port 
Led to the Castle's outer court : 
There the main fortress, broad and tall. 
Spread its long range of bower and hall. 

And towers of varied size. 
Wrought with each ornament extreme, 
That Gothic art, in wildest dream 

Of fimcy, could devise ; 
But fUll between the Warriorli way 
And the main portal arch, there lay 
An inner moat ; 
Nor bridge nor boat 
Affords De Vauz the means to cross 
The dear, profound, and silent fosse. 



80 TUB BRIDAL OF TBXBBlf AIN. CoiUo ///. 

His aims aside in haste he flings, 

Cuirass of steel and hauberk rings. 

And down falls helm, and down the shield, 

Rough with the dints of many a field. 

Fair was his manly form, and fair 

His keen dark eye, and close curPd hair. 

When, all unarmed, sare that the brand 

Of well-proved metal graced his hand. 

With nought to fence his dauntless breast 

But the dose giponV under-vest, 

Whose sullied buff the sable stains 

Of hauberk and of mail retains, — 

Roland De Vauz upon the brim 

Of the broad moat stood prompt to swim. 

XIX. 
Accoutred thus he dared the tide. 
And soon he reached the farther side, 

And entered soon the Hold, 
And paced a hall, whose walls so wide 
Were blazon'd all with feats of pride. 

By warriors done of old. 
In middle lists they countered here. 

While trumpets seemed to blow ; 
And there, in deir or desert drear. 

They quelPd gigantic foe,' 
Braved the fierce griffon in his ire. 
Or faced the dragon^s breath of fire. 
Strange in their anns, and strange in face. 
Heroes they seem d of ancient race. 
Whose deeds of arms, and race, and name, 
Forgotten long by later fame, 

1 A sort of doublet, worn beneath the armour. 
> LHS.— " They countered giant foe."^ 



CcuiiO in, nSM BEIDIL Of TUERMAIK. fll 

Were here depicted, to appal^ 
ThoM of an age degenerate, 
Whoie bold intrusion bmTed their fate 

In this enchanted hall. 
For some short space, the venturous Knight 
With these high marvels fed his sight. 
Then sought the chamber*s upper end, 
Where three broad easy steps ascend 
To an arched portal door. 
In whose broad folding leaves of state 
Was framed a wicket window-grate. 

And ere he ventured more. 
The gallant Knight took earnest view 
The grated wicket-window through. 

XX. 

O, for his arms ! Of martial weed 
Had never mortal Knight such need !— . 
He spied a stately gallery ; all 
Of snow-white marble was the wall. 

The vaulting and the floor ; 
And, contrast strange I on either hand 
There stood arrayed in sable band 

Four Haids whom Afric bore *,* 
And each a Lybian tiger led. 
Held by as bright and ftail a thread 

As Lucy*s golden hair. 
For the leash that bound these monsters dread 

Was but of gossamer. 
Each Maiden^s short barbaric vest' 
Left all unclosed the knee and breast, 

1 CMS.*" Powtny'd by limner to sppsl/*] 

• [MS.—" Four Uaideni itood in uble band 

The blackeit AfHqne bore.*^ 

• [M8.— " Bach Maiden's ihort and laTage rttt"] 

r 



82 THS BRIDAL OP TRIKiUiAIN. CkmiO JII. 

And limbs of shapely jet ; 
White was their vest and turban^s fold. 
On arms and ankles lings of gold 

In savage pomp were set ; 
A quiver on their shoulders laj. 
And in their hand an aasagay.^ 
Such and so silent stood they there. 

That Roland wellnigh hoped 
He saw a band of statues rare. 
Stationed the gazer^s soul to scare ; 

But when the wicket oped. 
Each grisly beast ^gan upward draw. 
Rolled his grim eye, and spread his claw, 
Scented the air, and lickM his jaw ; 
While these weird Haids, in Moorish tongue, 
A wild and dismal warning sung. 

XXI. 

** Bash Adventurer, bear thee back ! 

Dread the spell of Dahomay I 
Fear the race of Zaharak,* 

Daughters of the burning day ! 

^ When the whirlwind's gusts are wheeling, 

Ours it is the dance to braid ; 
Zarah*8 sands in pillars reeling. 

Join the measure that we tread. 
When the Moon has donned her cloak. 

And the stars are red to see. 
Shrill when pipes the sad Siroc, 

Music meet for such as we. 

1 [The If 8. hai not this ooapletl 

s [Zahonk or Zaharah is the Anb name of the Gre«t De> 
sert.] 



Canto III, mi BRIDAL Of TEimiUIIf. 8S 

**■ Where the shattered colamne Ite, 

Showing Carthage onoe had been^ 
If the wandering 8anton*B eye 

Our niyiterioui rites hath wen^i^ 
Oft he cons the prayer of death. 

To the nations preaches doom, 
* Azraers brand hath left the sheath ! 

Moslems, think upon the tomb !^ 

** Ours the scorpion, ours the make. 

Ours the hydra oip the fen. 
Ours the tiger of the brake, 

All that plagaes the sons of men. 
Otus the tempest*s midnight wiack. 

Pestilence that wastes by day-. 
Dread the race of Zaharak ! 

Fear the spell ci Dahomay ! *' 

XXIL 
Uncouth and strange the accents shrill 

Rung those vaulted rooft among. 
Long it was ere, &int and still. 

Died the far-resounding song. 
While yet the distant echoes roll. 
The Warrior communed with his soul, 

'* When first I took this venturous quest, 
I swore upon the rood, 

Neither to stop, nor turn, nor rest. 
For evil or for good« 
My forward path too well I ween. 
Lies yonder fearful ranks between ; 
For man unarmM, *tis bootless hope 
With tigers and with fiends to cope^ 



84 THE BRIDAL OP TRIXIIMAIN. Cottto III, 

Yet, if I turn, what waits me there. 
Save fieunine dire and fell dequdr ?-~ 
Other conclusion let me try. 
Since, choose however I list, I die. 
Forward, lies faith and knightly &me ; 
Behind, are perjury and shame. 
In life or death I hold my word ! ** 
With that he drew his trusty sword. 
Caught down a banner from the wall. 
And entered thus the fearful halL 

XXIII. 
On high each wayward Maiden threw 
Her swarthy arm, with wild halloo ! 
On either side a tiger sprung— 
Against the leftward foe he flung 
The ready banner, to engage 
With tangling folds the brutal rage ; 
The light-hand monster in mid air 
He struck so fiercely and so £ur. 
Through gullet and through spinal bone 
The trenchant blade hath sheerly gone. 
His grisly brethren ramped and yell*d. 
But the slight leash their rage withheld. 
Whilst, *twixt their ranks, the dangerous road 
Firmly, though swift, the champion strode. 
Safe to the gallery's bound he drew. 
Safe passM an open portal through ; 
And when against pursuit he flung 
The gate, judge if the echoes rung ! 
Onward his daring course he bore. 
While, mix*d with dying growl and roar. 
Wild jubilee and loud hurra 
Pursued him on hifl venturous way. 



mm^m^m^m 



Canto in. THR BEXDAL OF TEHftM AIH. 05 

XXIT. 

** Hurra, hiina I Our watch is done ! 
We hail once more the tropic mm. 
Pallid beams of northern day, 
Farewell, fiixewell ! Hurra, huna ! 

*^ Five hundred yean o*er this cold glen 
Hath the pale sun come round agen ; 
Foot of man, till now, hath ne*er 
Dared to cross the Hall of Fear. 

** Warrior ! thou, whose dauntless heart 
Gives us from our ward to part. 
Be as strong in future trial, 
Where resistance is denial. 

** Now for Afiric^s glowing skj, 
Zwenga wide and Atlas high, 
Zaharak and Dahomay !_ ^ 
Mount the winds ! Huna, hum ! ** 

XXV. 

The wizard song at distance died. 

As if in ether borne astray. 
While through waste halls and chambers wide 

The Knight pursued his steady way, 
Till to a lofty dome he came. 
That ilash'd with such a brilliant flame,* 
As if the wealth of all the world 
^ Were there in rich conAision hurPd. 
"-For here the gold, in sandy heaps. 
With duller earth incorporate, sleeps ; 

1 [MS. " golden lUiiia."] 



86 TUB BRIDAL OF TRIXRliAIN. CkuOo III, 

Was there in ingot^piled, and theze 
Coined badge of empeij it bare ; 
Yonder, huge bars of silver lay, 
Dimmed by the diamond^s neighbouring ray, 
Like the pale moon in morning day ; 
And in the midst four Maidens stand. 
The daughters of some distant land. 
Their hue was of the dark-red dye. 
That fringes oft a thunder sky ; 
Their hands palmetto baskets bare. 
And cotton fiUets bound their hair ; 
Slim iras their form, their mien was shy. 
To earth they bent the humbled eye. 
Folded their arms, and suppliant kneerd. 
And thus their proffered gifts reveal'd.^ 

XXVI. 

CHORUS. 

*^ See the treasures Merlin piled. 
Portion meet for Arthur^s child. 
Bathe in Wealth's unbounded stream, 
Wealth that Ayarice ne^er could dream ! ** 

FIRST MAIDEN. 

** See these dots of virgin gold ! 
Severed fiom the spany mould, 
Nature^i mystic alchepiy 
In the mine thus bade them lie ; 
And their orient smile can win 
Kings to stoop, and samts to sin.**— . 

1 [MS.^** And rappUant as on «arth they lmeel*d» 
The gifts they pxoffei'd thus Terealed.**] 



CCUUO III, TRS BAIDAL OP TRURMAIN. 87 

8100ND irtlDVN. 

« See these pearls, that long have dept ; 
These were tears bj Naiads wept 
For the loss of MariiieL 
Tritons in the silver shell 
Treasured them, till hard and white 
As the teeth of Amphitrite.*"— . 

THIRD MAXPBN. 

** Does a livelier hue delight ? 
Here are rubies blazing bright, 
Here the emerald*8 fairy green, 
And the topas glows between ; 
Here their varied hues unite, 
In the changeful chiysolite."— 

FOURTH MAIDBN. 

** Leave these gems of poorer shine, 
Leave them all, and look on mine ! 
While their glories I expand, 
Shade thine eyebrows with thy hand. 
Mid-day sun and diamond*S blaze 
Blind the rash beholder's gaze/*— - 

CHORUS. 

«< Warrior, seize the splendid store ; 
Would ^were all our mountains bore ! 
We should ne'er in future story, 
Head, Peru, thy perish'd glory ! " 

XXVIL 
Calmly and unconcem'd the Knight 
Waved aside the treasures bright: 



88 THS BRIDAL OF TRISRIIAIN. Comto III, 

** Gentle Maidens, riA, I pray ! 
Bar not thus my destined way. 
Let these boasted brilliant toys 
Braid the hair of girls and boys ! ^ 
Bid your streams of gold expand 
0*er proud London^s thirsty land. 
De Yaux of wealth saw never need. 
Save to purvey him arms and steed, 
And all the ore he deignM to hoard 
Inlays his helm, and hilts his sword." 
Thus gently parting from their hold. 
He left, unmoved, the dome of gold. 

XXVIII. 
And now the morning sun was high, 
De Yaux was weary, faint, and dry ; 
When, lo ! a plashing sound he hears, 
A gladsome signal that he nears 

Some frolic water-run ; 
And soon he reached a court-yard square. 
Where, dancing in the sultry air. 
Tossed high aloft, a fountain fair 

Was sparkling in the sun. 
On right and left, a fair arcade. 
In long perspective view display^ 
Alleys and bowers, for sun or shade : 

But, full in front, a door, 
Low-brow*d and dark, seemed as it led 
To the lone dwelling of the dead. 

Whose memory was no more. 



1 [MS.—" Let those boasted genu luid pearli 
Braid the hair of tojr-caaght girla."] 



CitUQ IIT. TUB BUDAL OF TBIBBMillV. 89 

XXK. 

Here stopped De Vauz an instant's space. 
To bathe his parched lips and &ce. 

And marked with well-pleased eye, 
Bef)racted in the fountain stream. 
In rainbow hues the dazzling beam 

Of that gay summer sky. 
Hit lenses felt a mild control. 
Like that which lulls the weary soul, 

From conteiflplation high 
Relaxing, when the ear receives 
The music that the greenwood leaves 

Make to the breezes* sigh. 

XXX. 

And oft in such a dreamy mood. 

The half-shut eye can frame 
Fair apparitions in the wood 
As if the Nymphs ^ field and flood 

In gay proceision came. 
Are these of such fantastic mould. 

Seen distant down the fair arcade, 
These Maids enlink'd in sister-fold. 

Who late at bashful distance staid. 

Now tripping fh>m the greenwood shade, 
Nearer the musing champion draw. 
And, in a pause of seeming awe. 

Again stand doubtful now ?.. 
Ah, that sly pause of witching powers ! 
That seems to lay, ^ To please be oun, 

Be yours to tell us how.** 
Their hue was ^ the golden glow 
That suns of Candabar bestow. 



90 THB BRIDAL OP tru&icain. CotOo IlL 

0*er which m dight saffasion flows 

A frequent tinge of paly rose ; 

Their limbs were fbshionM fair and free, 

In nature^ justest symmetry ; 

And, wreathed with flowers, with odours graced. 

Their rayen ringlets reached the waist : 

In eastern pomp, its gilding pale 

The hennah lent each shapely nail. 

And the dark sumah gave the eye 

More liquid and more lustrdhs dye. 

The spotless veil of misty lawn. 

In studied disarrangement, drawn 

The form and bosom o*er. 
To win the eye, or tempt the touch. 
For modesty showed all too much — 

Too much— yet promisM more. 

XXXI. 

« Oentle Knight, a while delay,** 
Thus they sung, ** thy toilsome way. 
While we pay the duty due 
To our Master and to you. 
Over Avarice, over Fear, 
Love triumphant led thee here ; 
Warrior, list to us, for w^ 
Are slaves to Love, are fHends to thee. 
Though no treasured gems have we. 
To profier on the bended knee. 
Though we boast nor arm nor heart, 
For the assagay or dart. 
Swains allow each simple girl 
Buby lip and teeth of pearl ; 
Or, if dangers more you prize, 
Flatterers find them in our eyea 



CoMto III, THB BIUDAL OF TRIBEMAIN. 91 

^ Stay, then, gentle Wonior, staj. 
Best till evening steal on day ; 
Stay, O, stay !-^n yonder bowers 
We will braid thy locks with flowen, 
Spread the feast and fill the wine. 
Charm thy ears with sounds divine, 
Weave our dances till delight 
Yield to languor, day to night. 

** Then shall she you most approve. 
Sing the lays that best you love. 
Soft thy mossy couch shall spread. 
Watch thy pillow, prop thy head. 
Till the weary night be o^er.— 
Gentle Warrior, wouldst thou more ? 
Wouldst thou more, fiiir Warrior^—jhe 
Is slave to Love and slave to thee.** 

XXXII. 

O, do not hold it for a crime 
In the bold hero of my rhyme. 

For Stoic look. 

And meet rebuke, 
He lacked the heart or time ; 
As round the band of sirens trip. 
He kissed one damsePs laughing lip,^ 
And pressed another^s proffered hand^ 
Spoke to them all in accents bland. 
But broke their magic circle throu^ ; 
« Kind Maids,** he said, *« adieu, adieu ! 
My iate, my fortune, forward lies.** 
He said, and vanished from their eyes ; 

1 LM8.— ** As round the 1>and of sirens prese'd. 
One dftmsere langhing Up be kias'd."] 



92 THB BRIDAL OF TRIBRICAIN. ComiO III, 

But, as he dared that darksome waj. 
Still heard behind their lovely lay : 
•* Fair Flower of Courtesy, depart ! 
Go, where the feelings of the heart 
With the warm pulse in concord move ; 
Oo, where Virtue sanctions Love !** 

XXXIII. 
Downward De Vaux through darksome ways 

And ruinM vaults has gone, 
Till issue firom their bewildered maze, 

Or safe retreat, seemM none, 
And e*en the dismal path he strays 

Grew worse as he went on. 
For cheerful sun, for living air. 
Foul vapours rise and mine-fires glare. 
Whose fearful light the dangers showM 
That doggM him on that dreadful road. 
Deep pits, and lakes of waters dun. 
They showed, but showed not how to shun. 
These scenes^ of desolate despair. 
These smothering clouds of poisonM air. 
How gladly had De Vaux exchanged. 
Though ^twere to fiice yon tigers ranged \ 

Nay, soothful bards have said. 
So perilous his state seemed now. 
He wished him under arbour bough 

With Asians willing maid. 
When, joyful sound ! at distance near 
A trumpet flourished loud and clear. 
And as it ceased, a lofty lay 
Seemed thus to chide his lagging way. 

» CMS.—" Thi« itate," Ac.l 



Canto IIL the baioal of tbobmaik. 93 

XXXIV. 

** Son of Honour, theme of story ^ 
Think on the reward before ye I 
Danger, darkness, toil detpise ; 
7is Ambition bids thee xiie. 

** He that would her heights asoend. 
Many a weary step must wend ; 
Hand and foot and knee he tries ; 
Thus Ambition^s minions rise. 

M Lag not now, though rough the way, 
Fortune*s mood brooks no delay ; 
Grasp the boon that*s spread before ye. 
Monarches power, and Conqueror*s glory !'^ 



It ceased. Advancing on the sound, 
A steep ascent the wanderer found. 

And then a turret stair : 
Nor climbed he far its steepy round 

Till fresher blew the air. 
And next a welcome glimpse was giyen. 
That cheered hhn with the light of heaven. 

At length his toil had won 
A lofty hall with trophies dressed. 
Where, as to great imperial guest,* 
Four maidens stood, whose crimson vest 

Was bound with golden zone* 

XXXV. 

Of Europe seem*d the damsels all ; 
The first a nymph of lively (Jaul, 
Whose easy step and laughing eye 
Her borrowed air of aWe belie ; 



94 THB BRIDAL OP TRIBRBIAIN. Cawto III, 

The next a maid of Spain, 
Dark-eyed, dark-hair*d, sedate, yet bold ; 
White ivory skin and treas of gold, 
Her shy and bashful comrade told 

For daughter of Almaine. 
These maidens bore a royal robe, 
With crown, with sceptre, and with globe. 

Emblems of empery ; 
The fourth a space behind them stood. 
And leant upon a harp, in mood 

Of minstrel ecstasy. 
Of merry England she, in dress 
Like ancient British Druidess : 
Her hair an azure fillet bound. 
Her graceful vesture swept the ground. 

And, in her hand displayed, 
A crown did that fourth Maiden hold. 
But unadorned with gems and gold. 

Of glossy laurel made.^ 

XXXVI. 

At once to braye De Vauz knelt down 

These foremost Maidens three, 
And proffered sceptre, robe, and crown, 

Liegedom and seignorie, 
0*er many a region wide and fair. 
Destined, they said, for Arthur^s heir ; 

But homage would he none : — * 
" Rather," he said, ** De Vaux would ride, 
A warden of the Border-side, 
In plate and mail, than robed in pride. 



1 [MS.—" Of laurel leares -was made."] 
> [MS.—" Bat the firm knight past'd on. 



Cbnto ///. THV BUDAL Of TRURM4JM. 95 

A monarches empire own ; 
Bather, &r rather, would he be 
A free-born knight of England free. 

Than ait on Despots throne.** 
So paasM he on, when that fourth Maid, 

As ftarting from a trance. 
Upon the harp her finger laid ; 
Her magic touch the chords obey*d. 

Their soul awaked at once ! 

SONG OF THB FOURTH MAIDXN. 

*« Q^ake to your foundations deep. 
Stately Towers, and Bannered Keep, 
Bid your vaulted echoes moan. 
As the dreaded step they own. 

** Fiends, that wait on Merlin^i spell. 
Hear the fooi-fiill ! mark it well I 
Spread your dusky wings abroad, ^ 
Boune ye for your homeward road I 

"« It is His, the first who e*er 
Dared the dismal Hall of Fear ; 
His, who hath the snares defied 
Spread by Pleasure, Wealth, and Pride. 

** Quake to your foundations deep. 
Bastion huge, and Turret steep ! ' 
Tremble, Keep ! and totter. Tower I 
This is Gyneth*s waking hour.** 



1 [M8.~*' Spread your peniunii all abroad.**] 
fl [MS. "and battle keep.*^ 



96 THS BRIDAL OF TAXIRMAIN. Conto III, 

XXXVII. 

Thus while she sung, the ▼enturouB knight 
Has reached a bower, where milder light^ 
' Through crimson curtains fell ; 

Such softened shade the hill receives. 
Her purple veil when twilight leaves 

Upon its western swelL 
That bower, the gazer to bewitch. 
Had wondrous store of rare and rich 

As e*er was seen with eye ; 
For there by magic ddll, I wis, 
Form of each thing that living is 

Was limn*d in proper dye. 
All seemed to sleep— the timid hare 
On form, the stag upon his lair. 
The eagle in her eyrie fair 

Between the earth and sky. 
But what of pictured rich and rare* 
Could win De Vaux^s eye-glance, where. 
Deep slumbering in the fatal chair, 

He saw King Arthur's child ! 
Doubt, and anger, and dismay. 
From her brow had passed away, 
Foigot was that fell tourney-day. 

For as she slept, she smiled : 
It seemed, that the repentant Seer 
Her sleep of many a hundred year 

With gentle dreams beguiled. 

XXXVIII. 

That form of maiden loveliness, 

*Twizt childhood and *twixt youth, 

1 [MS. " ■often'd light." 

> [MS.— Sat what of rich or what of rare."! 



Canto III, THB BAIOAL OF TRIBRHAIN. 97 

That ivory chair, that gilvsn dreas, 
The aims and ankles bare, express 

Of Ljulph's tale the truth. 
Still upon her garment^s hem 
Vanoc^B blood made purple gem, 
And the warder of command 
Cumbered still her sleeping hand ; 
Still her dark locks dishevelled flow 
From net of pearl o*er breast of snow ; 
And 80 &ir the dumberer seems^ 
That De Vaux impeached his dreams. 
Vapid all and void of might, 
Hiding half her charms from sight. 
Motionless a while he stands, 
Folds his arms and clasps his hands, 
Trembling in his fitful joy. 
Doubtful how he should destroy 

Long-enduring spell ; 
Doubtful, too, when slowly rise 
Dark-fringed lids of Gyneth^s eyes, 

What these eyes shall tell. — 
^ St. George I St. Mary I can it be. 
That they will kindly look on me I ' 



I »» 



XXXIX. 

Gently, lo I the Warrior kneels. 
Soft that lovely hand he steals, 
Soft to kiss, and soft to clasp- 
But the warder leaves her grasp ; 

Lightning flashes, rolls the thunder ! 
G3meth startles from her sleep. 
Totters Tower, and trembles Keep, 

Burst the Castle-walls asunder I 



2)8 THE BRIDAL OP TRISRMAIN. CantO III, 

Fierce and frequent were the shocks, — 

Melt the magic halls away ; 

But beneath their mystic rocks, 

In the arms of bold De Vaux, 

Safe the princess lay ; 
Safe and free from magic power, 
Blushing like the rose's flower 

Opening to the day ; 
And round the Champion's brows were bound 
The crown that Druidess had wound, 

Of the green laurel-bay. 
And this was what remained of all 
The wealth of each enchanted hall. 

The Garland and the Dame : 
But where should Warrior seek the meed. 
Due to high worth for daring deed, 

Except from Lovb and Fame ! 



t w J 



CONCLUSION. 



I. 
My Lucy, when the ICald if won, 
The Minetreri taek, tbeu know*rt, it done ; 

And to require ^ bArd 
That to hie dregi the tale thould run, 

Were ordinance too hard. 
Our loven, briefly be it laid. 
Wedded aa loven wont to wed,^ 

When tale or play it o*er ; 
Lived long and blett, loTed fond and true. 
And law a numeroui race renew 

The honoun that they bore. 
Know, too, that when a pilgrim etrajfl 
In mmming mift or evening mace, 

Along the mountain lone, 
That fhiry fortreti often moelu 
Hif gaze upon the caatled rockf 

Of the valley of St John ; 

1 CMS^" y«t know, thto maid and warrior too, 
Woddod aa lOTfiv wont to do."] 



100 THB BRIDAL OF TAlKRMAm.. 

But never man since brave De Vaux 

The channed portal won. 
Tis now a vain illusive^Bhow, 
That melts whenever the sunbeams glow, 

Or the fresh breeze hath blown.^ 

II. 
But see, my love, where &r below 
Our lingering wheels are moving slow, 

The whiles, up-gazing still. 
Our menials eye our steepy way. 
Marvelling, perchance, what whim can stay 
Our steps when eve is sinking gray 

On this gigantic hill. 
So think the vulgar — Life and time 
Ring all their joys in one dull chime 

Of luxury and ease ; 
And, O ! beside these simple knaves. 
How many better-bom are slaves 

To such coarse joys as these. 
Dead to the nobler sense that glows 
When nature*8 grander scenes unclose 
But, Lucy, we will love them yet. 
The mountain*8 misty^ coronet. 

The greenwood, and the wold ; 
And love the more, that of their maze 
Adventure high of other days 

By ancient bards is told. 
Bringing, perchance, Uke my poor tale. 
Some moral truth in fiction*s veil :' 

1 [MS.*—" That melts whene'er the breezes blow, 

Or beams a cloudless sau."' 
« [MS.—" SUvan-T 
> [The MS. has not this couplet.] 



TUB BRIDAL OF TRIBRMAIX. 101 

Nor lore them less, that o*er the hill 

The evening breeze, as now, comes chill ; — 

My love shall wrap her warm. 
And, fearless of the slippery way. 
While safe she trips the heathy brae. 

Shall hang on Arthur's arm. 



THB END OF TRIBRMAIN.^ 



[Sec Appendix, Note I.] 



[ 103 ] 



APPENDIX 



TO 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



Note A. 

The Baron of THermaln.—P. 17. 

This branch of Vaux, with its collateral alliances, is now repre- 
sented by the family of Braddyl of Conishead Priorj, in the coun- 
ty palatine of Lancaster; for it appears that about the time aboTe 
mentioned, the honse of Triermain was united to its kindred £s- 
mily Vauz of Caterlen, and, by marriage with the heiress of Dcla- 
more and Leyboume> became the representatiTe of those ancient 
and noble £eunilies. The male line failing in John de Vanx« about 
the year 1065, his daughter and hdress, Mabel, married Christo- 
pher Richmond, Esq. of Highhead Castie, in the county of Cum- 
berland, descended from aa ancient family of that name. Lords of 
Corby Castle, in the same county, soon after the Conquest, and 
which they alienated about the 15th of Edward the Second, to 
Andrea de Harcia, Earl of Carlisle. Of this fiunily was Sir Tho- 
mas de Baigemont, (miles auratus,) in the reign of King Edward 
the First, who appears to haye greatly distinguished himself at the 
•lege of Kaerlareroc, with William, Baron of Leyboume. In an 
andent heraldic poem, now extant, and preserred in the British 
Museum, describing that siege, 1 his arms are stated to be, Or, 2 

1 [This poem has been recently edited by Sir Nicolas Harris 
Nicholas, 1833.1 



104 APPENDIX TO 

Ban OemellM Otdei, and a Chief Or, the lame borne by his de- 
■cendants at the present day. The Richmonds remored to their 
Castle of Highhead in the reign of Henry the Eighth, when the 
then representative of the family married MaiKaret, daughter of 
Sir Hugh Lowther, by the Lady I>orothy de Clifford, only child by 
a second marriage of Henry Lord Clifford, great grandson of John 
Lord Clifford, by Elizabeth Percy, daughter of Henry {snmamed 
Hotspur) by Elizabeth Mortimer, which said Elizabeth was. dangh- 
t«r of Edward Mortimer, third Earle of Marche, by Philippa, sole 
daughter and heiress of Lionel], Duke of Clarence. 

The third in descent from the aboye-mentioned John Richmond, 
became the representatiye of the families of Vaugh, of Triermain, 
Caterlen, and Torcrossock, by his marriage with Mabel de Vanx, 
the heiress of them. His grandson Henry Richmond died without 
issue, leaving fire insters coheiresses, four of whom married ; but 
Maigaret, who married William Oale, Esq. of Whiteharen, was 
the only one who had male issue surviying. She had a son, and a 
daughter married to Henry Curwen of Workington, Esq., who re- 
presented the county of Cumberland for many years in Parliament, 
and by her had a daughter, married to John Christian, Esq. (now 
Curwen.) John, son and heir of William Oal^ married Sarah, 
daughter and heiress of Christopher Wilson of Bwdsea Hall, in the 
county of Lancaster, by Margaret, aunt and coheiress of lliomas 
Braddyl, Esq. of Braddyl, and Conishead Priory, in the same 
county, and had issue four sons and two daughters. Ist, William 
Wilson, died an in&nt ; 2d, Wilson, who upon the death of his 
cousin, Thomas Braddyl, without issue, succeeded to his estates, 
and took the name of Braddyl, in pursuance of his will, by the 
King's sign-manual ; 3d, William, died young ; and, 4th, Henry 
Richmond, a lieutenant-general of the army, married Sarah, 
daughter of the Rey. R. Baldwin ; Maigaret married Richard 
Greaves Townley, Esq. of Fulboume, in the county of Cambridge, 
and of Bellfield, in the county of Lancaster ; Sarah married to 
George Bigland of Bigland Hall, in the same county. Wilson 
Braddyl, eldest son of John Gale, and grandson of Maigaret Rich- 
mond, married Jane, daughter and heiress of Matthias Gale, Esq. 
of Catgill Hall, in the county of Cumberland, by Jane, daughter 
and heiress of the Rev. S. Bennet, D.D. ; and, as the eldest sur- 
•riving male branch of the families above mentioned, he quarters, 
in addition to his own, their paternal coats in the following order, 
as appears by the records in the College of Arms. Ist, Argent, a 
fess azure, between 3 saltiers of the same, charged with an anchor 
between S lions' heads erased, or,— Gale. 2d, Or, 2 bars gemellea 
galea, and a chief or,— Richmond. 3d, Or, a fess chequey, or and 
gules -between 9 gerbes gules^— Vanz of Caterlen. 4tb, Gulet^ ft 



THB mUD AL OF lUnDtMAIir. 1 0$ 

tafclMqMj, oraadgolMbetwMDdferbMor,— V«iixofT<»renw> 
Mck. Mh, Aivent» (not rert, as tUtUd b^Born,) a hmd fibeqtuj, 
or aaid gnJca^ forVaauof Txiermain. flth, Qaloa, a crow patonco, 
or, Dolamoro. 7th, Omln, 6 Uona nuspant ai|0Bt, a, 9, and I, 
Lejrbovrno/— This nunro detailed genealogy of the flunily of Trler- 
audn was obllgiogly soot to the antbor, by Major Bmddyll of Co- 
niabead PiioiT. 



If on B. 

Bepat^drei PmrWft Table Moimd, 

ForJkUt qfeJdiManf rtnown'd. 

Left MaifbimrffiCi wwtmd and tUmet <fpctoer, 

Bif Druids raised in moffie hour. 

And traced the Samonts winding ta^.~P. 2] . 

* 

A drciUar bktnadbmead, abost half « mile ftom Penrith, Is tlras 
popvUirly tenned. The drele within the ditdi is about one hui' 
dred and iUt J paces in drcomliBrenee, with openingii^ or approacbei^ 
directlj opposite to each other As the ditch is on the inner 
side, it oonld not be intended for the pupoee of defence, and it has 
reasonablx been conjectured, that the endosore was deiigned for 
the solemn ezerdse of fSeats of chiTslrj ; and the cmb^kment 
anrand Ibr the oonrenience of tlie spectators. 

Higher np the rirer Eamont than Arthur's Bonnd Table, is a 
pfodigioBS enclosare of greftt anttqait^, formed bjr a collection of 
stones spon the top of a gently slo^g hfll, called MaybnvKh. In 
the plain wldeh it encloses tltere stands erect an nnbcwn stoQC of 
tweHe feet in heffl^t. Two limilar massfs are said to bare been 
dcsCrojed daring the memory of num. The whole appeari to be a 
sumitment of Dniidical times. 



Note C. 

The Monarchy breaCUess and amaud. 
Sack on Vufalai easUe gaxtd 
Nor Uneernor dtmjon could he enf. 
Darkening offotnet Ihe morning ikg^-T, 40. 

" We now gained a riew of the Vale of 8t John's, a rery narrow 
dell, hemmed in by mountains, tlmragh which a small brook mkkes 
many meanderings, washing little enclosares of grass-gfonnd, 
wUdi stretch np the rising of the hilla. In the widest part of the 



106 APPENDIX TO 

dale yon are strack with the appearance of an ancient mined cas- 
tle, which seems to stand upon the summit of a little mount, the 
mountains around forming an amphitheatre. This massire bul- 
wark shows a front of yarious towers, and makes an awfU, rude, 
and Gothic appearance, with its lofty turrets and ragged battle- 
ments ; we traced the g^eries, the bending arches, the buttresses. 
The greatest antiquity stands characterised in its architecture ; the 
inhabitants near it assert it Is an antediluTian structure. 

" The trareller's curiosity is roused, and he prepares to make a 
nearer approach, when that curiosity is put upon the rack, by his 
being assured, that, if he adranoes, certain genii who gOTem the 
place, by virtue of their snpematiual art and necromancy, will 
strip it of all its beauties, and by enchantment, transform tiie ma- 
gic walls. The Tale seems adapted for the habitation of such be- 
ings ; its gloomy recesses and retirements look like haunts of eril 
spirits. There was no delusion in the report ; we were soon con- 
vinced of its truth ; for this piece of antiquity, ap Tenerable and 
noble in its aspect, as we drew near changed its figure, and prored 
no other than a shaken massive pile of rocks, which stand in the 
midst of this little rale, disunited from the adjoining mountains, 
and have so much the real form and resemblance of a castle, that 
they bear the name of the Castle Rocks of St. John."— Hutchin- 
son's Excursion to fke LaJtet, p. 121. 

NOTB D. 

There MoroU qfthe Wenmace, ^c— P. 42. 

The characters named in the following stanaa are all of them 
more or less distinguished in the romances which treat of King 
Arthur and his Bound Table, and their names are strung together 
according to the established custom of minstrels upon such occa- 
sions; for example, in the ballad of the Marriage of Sir Oa- 
waine :— 

" Sir Lancelot, Sir Stephen bolde. 
They rode with them that daye. 
And, foremost of the oompanye, 
There rode the stewarde Kaye. 

** Soe did Sir Banier, and Sir Bore, 

And eke Sir Oarrette keen. 
Sir Tristrem, too, that gentle knight. 

To the forest fresh and greene. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRORMAIS. 107 



NOTB E. 

Laneddt that ever more 

Looted ttoVn^eUe on t^ Queen,—?. 43. 

Upon thii delicate mbject hear Richard Bobtauoo, citisen of 
London* in hie Aegertion of King Arthur :— " But ae it' it a thing 
■nfficiently apparent that she (OneneTer, wife of King Arthur) was 
beantifoU ao it ii a thing doubted whether ahe was chaste, yea or 
no. Truly, lo fkr ae I can with honeetie, I would spare the im- 
payred honour and fame of noble women. But yet the truth of the 
historie pluckes me by the eare, and willeth not onely, but com- 
mandeth me to declare what the ancients haye deemed of her. 
To wrestle or contend with ao great authoritie were indeede unto 
mei a controTersie, and that greate."— jlcrertfon of King Arthure, 
Imprinted by John Wdtfit London, 1582. 

Note F. 

There were two who loved their neighboui's wives, 
And one teAo loved his own.—T. 46. 

" In our forefathers' tyme, when Paplstrie, as a standyng poole, 
coTered and orerflowed all England, fewe books were read in our 
toi^e, suTying oertaine bookes of cheralrie, as they said, for pas- 
time and pleasure ; which, as some say, were made in the monas- 
teries, by idle monks or wanton chanons. As one, for example. 
La Mortt d^ Arthure i the whole pleasure of which book standeth 
in two speciall poynts, in open manslaughter and bold bawdrje ; 
in which booke they be counted the noblest knightes that do kill 
most men without any quarrell, and commit fowlest adoulteries 
by sutlest shiftes ; as Sir Launcelot, with the wife of King Arthur, 
his master ; Sir Tristram, with the wife of King Marke, his uncle ; 
Sir Lamerocke, with the wife of King Lote, that was his own aunt. 
This is good stuffe for wise men to laugh at, or honest men to take 
pleasure at, yet I know when God's Bible was banished the court, 
andLaMorte d'Arthure receiTed into the prince's chamber."— 
Ascmam's Schocimaster. 



108 APPENDIX TO 

NOTB G. 

IM UoerUtf of the Table Boundt 
OfOtivolry Vie prime.— F. 61. 

" [The difficult nibject of a tonmament, in which sercral knights 
•ngage at once, is admirably txeated by the novelist in Iranhoe, 
and by his riral in the Bridal of Triermain, and the leading thought 
in both descriptione is the indden and tragic change from a scene 
of pomp, gaiety, and yonthfiil pride, to one of misery, confoi^n, 
and death."— ^do^pAur, p. 245. 

*' The tide of battle seemed to flow now toward the aonthem, 
BOW toward the northern extremity of the lists, as the one or the 
other party prevailed. Meantime, the clang of the blows, and the 
shonts of the combatants, mixed fearfully with the sound of the 
trumpets, and drowned the groans of those who fell, and lay roll- 
ing defenceless beneath the feet of the horses. The splendid ar- 
mour of the combatants was now defaced with dust and blood, and 
gare way at every stroke of the sword and battle-axe. The gay plu- 
mage, shorn from the crests, drifted upon the breeze like snow- 
flakes. All that was beautiful and graceful in the martial array 
had disappeared, and what was now visible was only calculated to 
awake terror or oompassion."--/mn*<»--/F"at«rfcyJV(Wid», vol. xvi. 
p. 187] 



Note H. 
The breeu came sofBp doum the brook, ^c.—P. 15. 

" [A sharp frost wind, which made itself heard and felt from 
time to time, removed the clouds of mist which might otherwise 
have slumbered till morning on the valley ; and, though it could 
not totally disperse the clouds of vapour, yet threw them in con- 
fused and changeful masses, now hovering round the heads of the 
mountains, now filling, as with a dense and voluminous stream of 
smoke, the various deep gullies where masses of the composite 
rock, or brescia, tumbling in fragments from the clifis, have rush- 
ed to the valley, leaving each behind its course a rent and ton; ra- 
vine, resembling a deserted water-course. The moon, which was 
now high, and twinkled with all the vivacity of a frosty atmosphere, 
silvered the windings of the river, and the peaks and precipices 
which the mist left visible, while her beams seemed, as it were, 
absorbed by the fleecy whiteness of the mist, where it lay thick 



TBB BRIDAL OP TKIEBMAIS, 109 

and oondented, and gar* to the more l^t and raponry fpeckf^ 
which were elsewhere Tisible, a aort of filmy trantparencj rescm* 
bUng the lightest reil of ailTer gsnxe."— XTatwr^ NaveU^Sob 
Bajt—yoX. tUL p. 207. 

" The praiae of truth, prcdiloD, and distfaictoeti, la not rery 
fre^piently combined with that of extenMre magnificence and 
iplendid oomplkation of Imagery ; yet, how maaterly, and often 
Miblime, la the panoramie display in all infheae worica, of raat aad 
dlTenlfied acenery, and of crowded and tnmnltnona action,** ftc 
"AMphm, p. 103.] 



Nora I. 



OOMTSMFOBABT ClUTIClfM OF THB POUf. 

" [The Bridal of Triermaln la written in the atyle ct Mr. Walter 
Scott ; and if in magnU votuUte iateH,iht author, whateTer may 
be the merita of hia work, haa earned the mead at which he aapirea. 
To attempt a teriout imitation of the moat popular llTing poet— 
and this imitation, not a abort ftagment, in which all hia pecnliarl- 
tiea might, with comparatlTely little difficulty, he ooacantrated— 
but a long and complete work, with plot, chancter, and machinery 
entirely new— and with no manner of reaemhlance, therefore, to a 
parody on any production of the original author ;— 4hia must be ac- 
knowledged an attempt of no timid daring."— JEStttnfrMfyilk Maga- 
Mine, 1817. 



" The fote of thia work muat depend on its own nurita^ ft»r it ia 
not borne up by any of the adrentitiona ctrcamataacea that fre- 
quently contribute to literary au cceaa It is ushered into the world 
in the most modest guise ; and the author, we belioTev is entirely 
unknown. Should it fail altogether of a forourable reception, we 
ahall be diapoeed to abate aomething of the indignatkm which we 
hare occaaionally expressed against the eztraragant gamUnaaa of 
modem publicatirwia, and imagine thai there are readers whoae auf- 
fhiges are not to be obtained by a work without a namo. 

" The merit of the Bridal of Triermaln, in our estimatkm, con* 
sists in its perfect sfmpUdty, and in interwearing the refinement 
of modem times with the peculiarities of the ancient metrical ro- 
mance, which are in no respect riolated. In pohit of interest, the 
fint and second cantos are superior to the third. One erent natu- 
rally arises out of that which precedes it, and the eye is delighted 
and daazled with a series of moring pictures, each of tiiem remark- 



110 APPENDIX TO 

able for its individual splendour, and all contributing more or less 
directly to produce the ultimate result. The third canto is less 
profuse of incident, and somewhat more monotonous in its effect. 
This, we conceive, will be the imjnression on the first perusal of 
the poem. When we have leisure to mark the merits of the com- 
position, and to separate them from the progress of the events, we 
are disposed to think that the extraordiziary beauty of the descrip- 
tion wUl nearly compensate for the defect we have already no- 
ticed. 

But it is not from the fkble that an adequate notion of the me- 
rits of this singular work can be formed. We have already spoken 
of it as an imitation of Mr. Scott's style of composition ; and if we 
are compelled to make the general approbation more precise and 
specific, we should say, that if it be inferior in vigour to some of 
his productions, it eqiuJs» or surpasses them, inelegance and beau- 
ty ; that it is more uniformly tender, and far less infected with the 
unnatural prodigies and coarsenesses of the earlier romancers. In 
estimating its merits, however, we should forget that it is offered as 
an imitation. The diction undoubtedly reminds us of a rythm and 
cadence we have heard before ; but the sentiments, descriptioni^ 
and characters, have qualities that are native and unborrowed. . 

In his sentiments* the author has avoided the slight deficiency 
we ventured to ascribe to his prototype. The pictures of pure 
description are perpetually illuminated with reflections that bring 
out their colouring, and increase their moral effect : these reflec- 
tions are suggested by the scene, produced without effort, and ex- 
pressed with unaffected simplicity. The descriptions are spirited 
and striking, possessing an airiness suited to the mythology and 
manners of the times, though restrained by correct taste. Among 
the characters, many of which are such as we expect to find in this 
department of poetry, it is impossible not to distinguish that of 
Arthur, in whidi, identifying himself with his origins^, the author 
has contrived to unite the valour of the hero, the courtesy and dig' 
nity of the monarch, and the amiable weaknesses of any ordinary 
mortal, and thus to present to us the express lineaments of the 
flower of chivalry."— Quarterlj^ Review. 1813. 



« 



With regard to this poem, we have often heard, from what 
may be deemed good authority, a very curious anecdote, which we 
shall give merely as such, wittiont vouching for the truth of it. 
When the article entitled, ' The Inferno of Altisidora,' appeared in 
the Edinburgh Annual Register for 1809, it will be remembered 
that the last fragment contained in that singular production, is the 
beginning of the romance of Triermain. Report says, that the 
fragment woi twt meant to be an imitati<m if ScoUt but <f Cok- 



THB BRIDAL OF TRIBRU AIN. Ill 

ridge; and that, for this pnrpMe, the author borrowed both the 
name of the hero and the icene from the then anpublished poem 
of Christabelle ; and further, that eo few had erer seeq the mana- 
■cript of that poem, that amongst these few the author of Trier- 
main could not be mistaken. Bo that as it may, it is well known, 
that on the appearance of this fragment in the Annual Refl^teter, it 
was uniyersally taken for an imitation of Walter Scott, and nerer 
once of Coleri^e. The author peroeiring this, and that the poem 
was well receired, instantly set about drawing it out into a regular 
and finished work ; for shortly after it was announced in the papers, 
and continued to be so for three long years : the author, as may be 
supposed, haring, during that period, his hands occasionally occu- 
pied with hearier metal. In 1813^ the poem was at last produced, 
avowedly and manifestly as an imitation of Mr. Scott ; and it may 
easily be obserred, that from the 27th page onward, it becomes 
much more decidedly like the manner of that poet, than it is in 
the preceding part which was published in the B^;ister, and which, 
undoubtedly, does bear some similarity to Coleridge in the poetry, 
and more especially in the rhythm, as^ e. y.— 

' Harpers must lull him to his rost. 
With the slow tunes he loves the best. 
Till sleep sink down upon his breast. 
Like the dew on a summer hill.' 

' It was the dawn of an autumn day ; 
The sun was struggling with firost-fog gray. 
That, like a siWery crape, was spread 
Bound Skiddaw's dim and distant head.' 



-' What time, or whero 



Did she pass, that maid with the heavenly brow. 
With her look bo sweet, and her eyes so fair. 
And her graceful step, and her angel air. 
And the eagle-plume on her dark-brown hair. 
That iMws'd from my bower e'en now T 

* Although it fell as faint and shy 
As bashful maiden's half-form'd sigh. 
When she thinks her lover near.' 

' And light they fell, as when earth receive^ 
In mom of frost, the wither'd leaves. 
That drop when no winds blow.' 



112 IPPKNOIX TO THB BRIDAL OP TRIEAMAIN. 

' Or if 'twaa Imt an aiiy tiling. 
Such as fiuxtastic dnmben bring, 
Viamed from the ninbow's Tarying dyei, 
Or fading tints of western skies.' 

" These, it will be seen, are not exactly Coleridge, but they are 
precisely such an imitation of Coleridge as, we conceire, another 
poet of our acquaintance would write : on that ground, we are ia- 
cliued to give some credit to the anecdote here related, and from 
it we leave our readers to guess, as we hare done, who is the au- 
thor of the poem."— BIocfcKWMTf Magazine. April, 1817- ] 



END OP APPENDIX TO TRIERMAIM. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



A POEM. 



IN SIX CANTOS. 



[1816.] 



[" Upon another occasion,'" tays Sir Walter^ " / sent 
up anoiher of these trifles, which, like schoolboys^ kites, 
served to show how the wind of poptdar taste was setting. 
The manner was supposed to be that of a rude minstrel, or 
Scald, in opposition to the ' Bridal of Triermain,'* which was 
designed to belong rather to the Italian school. This new 
fugitive piece was caUed * Harold the Dauntless ;' and I am 
still astonished at my having committed the gross error of se- 
lecting the very name which Lord Byron had made so famous. 
It encountered rather an odd fate. My ingenious friend, 
Mr, James Hogg, had published, about the same time, a 
work, called the * Poetic Mirror,'' containing imitations of 
the principal living poets, Tliere was in it a very good imi- 
tation of my own style, whi<^ bore such a resemblance to 
^ Harold the Dauntless,"* that ^re was no discovering the 
original from the imitation ; afid I believe that many who 
took the trouble of thinking upon the subject, were rather of 
opinion that my ingenious friend was ihe true, and not the 
fictitious Simon PureJ*^ — Introduction to the Lord of 
THE Isles. 1830.] 




[ 115 ] 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



INTRODUCTION. 



Thbrb is a mood of mind we all have known. 
On drowsy eve, or dark and lowering daj. 
When the tired spirits lose their sprightlj tone. 
And nought can chase the lingering hours away. 
Dull on our soul fidls Fancy's dazzling ray, 
And wisdom holds his steadier torch in vain, 
Obscured the painting seems, mistuned the lay, 
Nor dare we of our listless load complain. 
For who for sympathy may seek that cannot tell of pain ? 

The jolly sportsman knows such drearihood. 
When bursts in deluge the autumnal rain. 
Clouding that mom which threats the heath-cock*B 

brood; 
Of such, in summer's drought, the anglers plain. 
Who hope the soft mild southern shower in vain ; 
But, more than all, the discontented fidr. 
Whom fiither stem, and stemer aunt, restrain 
From county-ball, or race occurring rare. 
While all her friends around their vestments gay prepare. 



116 HAROLD TUX DA0NTLB88. 

Ennui ! — or, as our mothers called thee, Spleen I 
To thee we owe full many a rare deyice ; — 
Thine is the sheaf of painted cards, I ween. 
The rolling hilliard-ball, the rattling dice. 
The turning-lathe for framing gimcrack nice ; 
The amateur's blotch' pallet thou majst claim. 
Retort, and air-pump, threatening frcgs and mice, 
(Murders diflguised by philosophic name,) 
And much of trifling grave, and much of buxom game. 

Then of the books, to catch thy drowsy glance 
Compiled, what bard the catalogue may quote ! 
Plays, poems, novels, never read but once *, — 
But not of such the tale fair Edgeworth wrote. 
That bears thy name, and is thine antidote ; 
And not of such the strain my Thomson sung, 
Delicious dreams inspiring by his note. 
What time to Indolence his harp he strung ; — 
Oh ! might my lay be rank'd that happier list among ! ' 

Each hath his refuge whom thy cares assail. 
For me, I love my study-fire to trim. 
And con right vacantly some idle tale, 
Displaying on the couch each listless limb. 
Till on the drowsy page the lights grow dim. 
And doubtful slumber half supplies the theme -, 
While antique shapes of knight and giant grim. 



1 t^he drj humour, and tort of half Spenserian cast of these, as 
well as all tiie other introdnctorj stansas in the poem, we think 
excellent, and scarcely outdone by any thing of the kind we know 
of; and there are few parts, taken separately, that have not some- 
thing attractire to the lorer of natural poetry ;— while any one 
page will show how exlrenuiff like it is to the manner qf Scott."— 
BUukwoodTs Magcusine, 1817.1 



HAROLD THX DiiUNTLXSS. 117 

Damsel and divarf, in long procession gleam, 
And the Bomancer^s tale becomes the Reader's dream. 

Tis thus my malady I well may bear. 
Albeit outstretched, like Pope's own Paridel, 
Upon the rack of a too-easy chair ; 
And find, to cheat the time, a powerful spell 
In old romaunts of errantry that tell. 
Or later legends of the Fairy-folk, 
Or Oriental tale of Afnte fell. 
Of Genii, Talisman, and broad-wing'd Roc, 
Though taste may blush and frown, and sober reason 
mock. 

Oft at such season, too, will rhymes unsought 
Arrange themselves in some romantic lay ; 
The which, as things unfitting graver thought, 
Are burnt or blotted on some wiser day. — 
These few survive— and proudly let me say, 
Court not the critic's smile, nor dread his frown ; 
They well may serve to while an hour away, 
Nor does the volume ask for more renown. 
Than Ennui's yawning smile what time she drops it 
down. 



n 



I H9 ] 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



CANTO FIRST. 



I. 
List to the valorous deeds that were done 
By Harold the Dauntless, Count Witikind^s son ! 

Count Witikind came of a regal strain. 

And roved with his Nonemen the land and the main. 

Woe to the realms which he coasted I for there 

Was shedding of blood, and rending of hair, 

Rape of maiden, and daughter of priest. 

Gathering of ravens and wolves to the feast : 

When he hoisted his standard black. 

Before him was battle, behind him wrack. 

And he buniM the churches, that heathen Dane, 

To light his band to their barks again. 

II. 

On EIrin's shores was his outrage known. 
The winds of France had his banners blown ; 
Little was there to plunder, jet still 
His pirates had forayed on Scottish hill : 



120 HAROLD THE DAUNTLISS. 

But upon merry Englaad^B coast 

More fi«quent he sail'd, for he won the most. 

So wide and so £eii his rayage they knew. 

If a sail but gleam*d white 'gainst the welkin blue. 

Trumpet and bugle to arms did call. 

Burghers hastened to man the wall. 

Peasants fled inland his fury to *8cape. 

Beacons were lighted on headland and cape, 

Bells were tolled out, and aye as they rung, 

Fearfhl and &intly the gray brothers sung, 

*' Bless us, St. Mary, from flood and from fire. 

From fkmine and pest, and Count Witikind's ire T* 

III. 
He liked the wealth of fair England so well. 
That he sought in her bosom as native to dwell. * 
He entered the Hmnber in fearful hour, 
And disembarked with his Danish power. 
Three Earls came against him with all their trains- 
Two hath he taken, and one hath he slain. 
Count Witikind left the Humberts rich strand. 
And he wasted and warr'*d in Northumberland. 
But the Saxon King was a sire in age, 
Weak in battle, in council sage *, 
Peace of that heathen leader he sought, 
Gifts he gave, and quiet he bought ; 
And the Count took upon him the peaceable style 
Of a vassal and liegeman of Britain^s broad isle. 

IV. 

Time will rust the sharpest sword. 
Time will consume the strongest cord ; 
That which moulders hemp and steel, 
Mortal arm and nerve must feel. 



Canto L harold the dauntlxss. 121 

Of the Danish band, whom Count Witiken led, 
Many wax'd aged, and manj were dead : 
Himself found his annour foU weighty to bear. 
Wrinkled his brows grew, and hoary his hair ; 
He leaned on a staff, when his step went abroad. 
And patient his palfrey, when steed he bestrode. 
As he grew feebler, his wildness ceased. 
He made himself peace with prelate and priest. 
Made his peace, and, stooping his head, 
Patiently listed the counsel they said : 
Saint Cuthbert's Bishop was holy and grave. 
Wise and good was the counsel he gave. 

V. 

"" Thou hast murder*d, robbM, and spoiled. 
Time it is thy poor soul were assoil^d ; 
Priests did^st thou slay, and churches bum, 
Time it is now to repentance to turn ; 
Fiends hast thou worshipped, with fiendish rite. 
Leave noW the darkness, and wend into light : 
O ! while life and space are given. 
Turn thee yet, and think of Heaven !" 
That stern old heathen his head he raised. 
And on the good prelate he steadfastly gazed ; 
** Give me broad lands on the Wear and the Tyne, 
My faith I will leave, and 111 cleave unto thine.* 

VI. 

Broad lands he gave him on Tyne and Wear, 
To be held of the church by bridle and spear ; 
Part of Monkwearmouth, of T3medale part. 
To better his will, and to soften his heart : 
Count Witikind was a joyful man. 
Less for the faith than the lands that he wan. 



»» 



122 HAROLD THS DAUNTLKSfl. CantO /. 

The high church of Durham is dressM for the day. 

The clei^ are rankM in their Bolemn amy : 

There came the Count, in a bear-skin warm. 

Leaning on Hilda his concubine^s ann. 

He kneel'd before Saint Cuthbert's shrine. 

With patience unwonted at rites divine ; 

He abjured the gods of heathen race. 

And he bent his head at the font of grace. 

But such was the grisly old proselyte's look. 

That the priest who baptized him grew pale and shook ; 

And the old monks mutter'd beneath their hood, 

** Of a stem so stubborn can never spring good P' 

VII. 

Up then arose that grim convertite. 
Homeward he hied him when ended the rite ; 
The prelate in honour will with him ride. 
And feast in his castle on Tyne's fair side. 
Banners and banderols danced in the wind. 
Monks rode before them, and spearmen behind ; 
Onward they passed, till fairly did shine 
Pennon and cross on the bosom of T3me ; 
And full in front did that fortress lour. 
In darksome strength with its buttress and tower : 
At the castle gate was young Harold there, 
Count Witikind's only offspring and heir. 

VIII. 

Young Harold was fear'd for his hardihood. 

His strength of fame, and his fury of mood. 

Bude he was and wild to behold. 

Wore neither collar nor bracelet of gold. 

Cap of vair nor rich array. 

Such as should grace that festal day : 



Canto /. HAROLD TUB DAUNTLESS. 123 

His doublet of bull's hide was all unbraced, 

Uncovered his head, and his sandal unlaced : 

His shaggy black locks on his brow hung low, 

And his eyes glanced through them a swarthy glow ; 

A Danish club in his hand he boro. 

The spikes wero clotted with recent goro ; 

At his back a she- wolf, and her wolf-cubs twain. 

In the dangerous chase that morning slain. 

Rude was the greeting his father he made. 

None to the Bishop, — awhile thus he said :•— 

IX. 

*' What priest-led hypocrite art thou. 

With thy humbled look and thy monkish brow, 

Like a shaveling who studies to cheat his vow ? 

Cans't thou be Witikind the Waster known. 

Royal Eric's fearless son. 

Haughty Gunhilda's haughtier lord, 

Who won his bride by the axe and sword ; 

From the shrine of St. Peter the chalice who tore. 

And melted to bracelets for Freya and Thor ; 

With one blow of his gauntlet who burst the skull. 

Before Odin's stone, of the Mountain Bull ? 

Then ye worshipped with rites that to war-gods belong. 

With the deed of the brave, and the blow of the strong ; 

And now, in thine age to dotage sunk. 

Wilt thou patter thy crimes to a shaven monk,— . 

Lay down thy mail-shirt for clothing of hair, — 

Fasting and scourge, like a slave, wilt thou bear ? 

Or, at best, be admitted in slothful bower 

To batten with priest and with paramour ? 

Oh ! out upon thine endless shame ! 

Each Scald's high harp shall blast thy fame, 

And thy son will refuse thee a father's name V 



iM 



I 



124 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. Cktnto J. 

X. 

Ireful wax'd old Witikjnd's look, 

His faltering voice with fury shook ;— 

" Hear me, Harold of hardened heart I " 

Stubborn and wilful ever thou wert. 

Thine outrage insane I command thee to cease, 

Fear my wrath and remain at peace : — 

Just is the debt of repentance I^ve paid. 

Richly the church has a recompense made. 

And the truth of her doctrines I prove with my blade. 

But reckoning to none of my actions I owe. 

And least to my son such accounting will show. 

Why speak I to thee of repentance or truth, 

Who ne^er from thy childhood knew reason or ruth ? 

Hence ! to the wolf and the bear in her den ; 

These are thy mates, and not rational men.** 

XI. 

Grimly smiled Harold, and coldly replied, 

♦* We must honour our sires, if we fear when they chide. 

For me, I am yet what thy lessons have made, 

I was rocked in a buckler and fed from a blade ; 

An infant, was taught to clasp hands and to shout. 

From the roo& of the tower when the flame had broko 

out ; 
Ii^ the blood of slain foemen my finger to dip. 
And tinge with its purple my cheek and my lip. — 
*Tis thou know^st not truth, thou hast bartered in eld. 
For a price, the bmve faith that thine ancestors held. 
When this wolf,** — and the carcass he flung on the 

plain,—. 
^ Shall awake and give food to her nurslings again. 
The face of his father will Harold review ; 
Till then, aged Heathen, young Christian, adieu ! *' 



Canio I. harold tus dauntlrss. 125 

XII. 
Priest, monk, and prelate, stood aghast. 
As through the pageant the heathen pass'd, 
A fvoss-bearer out of his saddle he flung. 
Laid his hand on the pommel, and into it q>rung. 
Loud was the shriek, and deep the groan. 
When the holy sign on the earth was thrown ! 
The fierce old Count imsheathed his brand, 
But the calmer Prelate stay'd his hand. 
** Let him pass free ! — ^Heaven knows its hour^— 
But he must own repentance^ power. 
Pray and weep, and penance bear. 
Ere he hold land by the Tyne and the Wear.'* 
Thus in scorn and in wrath from his father is gone 
Young Harold the Dauntless, Count Witikind's son. 

XIII. 

High was the feasting in Witikind's hall, 
Beveird priests, soldiers, and pagans, and all ; 
And e*en the good Bishop was &in to endure 
The scandal, which time and instruction might cure : 
It were dangerous, he deem'd, at the first to restrain. 
In his wine and his wassail, a half-christen'd Dane. 
The mead flowed around, and the ale was drained dry. 
Wild was the laughter, the song, and the cry ; 
With Kyrie Eleison, came clamorously in 
The wai^songs of Danesmen, Norweyan, and Finn, 
Till man after man the contention gave o*er. 
Outstretched on the rushes that strewed the hall floor ; 
And the tempest within, having ceased its wild rout. 
Gave place to the tempest that thundered without. 

XIV. 

Apart from the wassail, in turret alone, 

Lay flaxen-hair'd Gimnar, old Ermengarde's son ; 



126 HAROLD THB DAUNTLBS8. CatUo /. 

In the train of Lord Harold that Page was the first, 
For Harold in childhood had Ermengarde nursed ; 
And grieved was young Gunnar his master should roam, 
Unhoused and unfriended, an exile from home. 
He heard the deep thunder, the plashing of rain. 
He saw the red lightning through shot-hole and pane ; 
** And oh ! " said the Page, ** on the shelterless wold. 
Lord Harold is wandering in darkness and cold ! 
What though he was stubborn, and wayward and wild. 
He endured me because I was Ermen^mie's child. 
And often from dawn till the set of the sun. 
In the chase, by his stirrup, unbidden I run ; 
I would I were older, and knighthood could bear, 
I would soon quit the banks of the Tyne and tJie Wear : 
For my mother^s command, with her last parting breath, 
Bade me follow her nursling in life and to death. 

XV. 

*' It pours and it thunders, it lightens amain. 
As if Lok, the Destroyer, had burst from his chain ! 
Accursed by the church, and expeU^d by his sire. 
Nor Christian nor Dane give him shelter or fire. 
And this tempest what mortal may houseless endure ? 
Unaided, unmantled, he dies on the moor ! 
Whatever comes of Gunnar, he tarries not here." 
He leapt from his couch and he graspM to his spear ; 
Sought the hall of the feast. Undisturbed by his tread. 
The wassailers slept fast as the sleep of the dead : 
** Ungrateful and bestial !" his anger broke forth, 
** To forget 'mid your goblets the pride of the North ! 
And you, ye cowPd priests, who have plenty in store. 
Must give Gunnar for ransom a palfrey and ore.' 



w 



Canto I, HAROLD THB DAUNTLSSS. 127 

XVI. 

Then heeding full little of ban or of cune, 

He has seized on the Prior of Jorraux^ puise : 

Saint Meneholt's Abbot next morning haa missed 

His mantle, deep fiirr'd from the cape to the wrist : 

The Seneschars keys from his belt he has ta^en, 

(Well drencVd on that eve was old Hildebrand's brain.) 

To the stable-yard he made his way. 

And momited the Bishop's palfrey gay. 

Castle and hamlet behind him has cast. 

And right on his way to the moorland has passed. 

Sore snorted the palfrey, miused to face 

A weather so wild at so rash a pace ; 

So long he snorted, so loud he neighed. 

There answered a steed that was bound beside, 

And the red flash of lightning show'd there where lay 

His master. Lord Harold, outstretch^ on the clay. 

XVII. 

Up he started, and thunderM out, ^ Stand I ** 
And raised the club in his deadly hand. 
The flaxen-hair^ Gunnar his purpose told, 
Show'd the palfrey and proffered the gold. 
** Back, back, and home, thou simple boy ! 
Thou canst not share my grief or joy : 
Have I not marked thee wail and cry 
When thou hast seen a sparrow die ? 
And canst thou, as my follower should. 
Wade ankle-deep through foeman's blood. 
Dare mortal and immortal foe. 
The gods above, the fiends below. 
And man on eartli, more hateful still, 
The very fountain-head of ill ? 



128 HAROLD THB DAUNTLESS. CatUo I, 

Desperate of life, and careless of death, 
Lover of bloodshed, and slaughter, and scathe. 
Such must thou be with me to roam, 
And such thou canst not be— back, and home ! ** 

XVIII. 

Young Gunnar shook like an aspen bough. 

As he heard the harsh voice and beheld the dark brow. 

And half he repented his purpose and vow. 

But now to draw back were bootless shame, 

And he loved his master, so urged his claim : 

^ Alas ! if my arm and my courage be weak. 

Bear with me a while for old Ermengarde's sake ; 

Nor deem so lightly of Gunnar^s faith. 

As to fear he would break it for peril of death. 

Have I not risked it to fetch thee this gold. 

This surcoat and mantle to fence thee from cold ? 

And, did I bear a baser mind. 

What lot remains if I stay behind ? 

The priests* revenge, thy fathered wrath, 

A dungeon, and a shameful death.** 

XIX. 
With gentler look Lord Harold eyed 
The Page, then tum*d his head aside ; 
And either a tear did his eyelash stain, 
Or it caught a drop of the passing rain. 
** Art thou an outcast, then ?*' quoth he ; 
** The meeter page to follow me." 
*Twere bootless to tell what climes they sough 
Ventures achieved, and battles fought ; 
How oft with few, how oft alone. 
Fierce Harold*8 arm the field hath won. 



J 



Canito I, HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. i2D 

Men swore his eje, that flashed so red 

When each other glance was quenched with dread. 

Bore oft a light of deadly flame. 

That ne^er from mortal courage came. 

Those limbs so strong, that mood so stem. 

That loved the couch of heath and fern. 

Afar from hamlet, toWer and town. 

More than to rest on driven down ; 

That stubborn frame, that sullen mood. 

Men deemM must come of aught but good ; 

And they whispered, the great Master Fiend was at one 

With Harold the Dauntless, Count Witikind's son. 

XX 

Years after years had gone and fied. 

The good old Prelate lies lapped in lead ; 

In the chapel still is shown 

His sculptured form on a marble stone. 

With staff and ring and scapulaire. 

And folded hands in the act of prayer. 

Saint Cuthbert's mitre is resting now 

On the haughty Saxon, bold Aldingar> brow ; 

The power of his crozier he loved to extend 

O'er whatever would break, or whatever would bend. 

And now hath he clothed him in cope and in pall. 

And the Chapter of Durham has met at his call. 

** And hear ye not, brethren,** the proud Bishop said, 

*« That our vassal, the Danish Count Witikind*s dead ? 

All his gold and his goods hath he given 

To holy church for the love of heaven. 

And hath founded a chantry with stipend and dole. 

That priests and that beadsmen may pray for his soul : 

Harold his son is wandering abroad. 

Dreaded by man and abhorr'd by God ; 

I 



180 HAROLD THB DAUNTLB88. CantO I. 

Meet it is not, that such should heir 

The lands of the church on the Tyne and the Wear, 

And at her pleasure, her hallow'd hands 

May now resume these wealthy lands/ 



»f 



XXI. 
AnswerU good Eustace,^ a canon old^— 
** Harold is tameless, and fiirious, and bold ; 
ETer Renown blows a note of fame. 
And a note of fear, when she sounds his name : 
Much of bloodshed and much of scathe 
Haye been their lot who have waked his wiath. 
Leave him these lands and lordships still, 
Heaven in its hour may change his will ; 
But if reft of gold, and of living bare. 
An evil counsellor is despair.** 
More had he said, but the Prelate fiK)wn^d, 
And murmured his brethren who sate around. 
And with one consent have they given their doom. 
That the church should the lands of Saint Cuthbert 

resume. 
So wiU'd the Prelate ; and canon and dean 
Gave to his judgment their loud amen. 



1 Z" It may be worthy of notice, that in Harold the Danntleai 
there If a wiie and good Enatace, as in the Monaitery, and a Prior 
of Jorranz, who is robbed (ante, stann xri.) as in Iranhoe."— 
Aix>LPBT»' Letters an flk« Author qf H^averiev, 18SS, p. S81.] 



[ 1«1 i 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



CANTO SECOND. 



L 
'Ti8 merry in greenwood, — thus runs the old lay, 
In the gladsome month of lively May, 
When the wild birds^ song on stem and spray 

Invites to forest bower ; 
Then rears the ash his airy crest, • 
Then shines the birch in silver vest. 
And the beech in glistening leaves is drest. 
And dark between shows the oak^s proud breast. 

Like a chieftain^s frowning tower ; 
Though a thousand branches join their screen. 
Yet the broken sunbeams glance between. 
And tip the leaves with lighter green. 

With brighter tints the flower : 
Dull is the heart that loves not then. 
The deep recess of the wildwood glen. 
Where roe and red-deer find sheltering den 

When the sun is in his power. 



] 32 HAKOLD THB DAUNTLESS. CuntO IL 

II. 

Less merry, perchance^ is the fading leaf 
That follows so soon on the gathered sheaf, 

When the greenwood loses the name ; 
Silent is then the forest bound, 
Sare the redbreast*s note, and the rustling sound 
Of frost-nipt leaves that are dropping round. 
Or the deep-mouthed cry of the distant hound 

That opens on his game : 
Yet then, too, I love the forest wide. 
Whether the sun in splendour ride, 
And gild its many-colourM side ; * 
Or whether the soft and silvery haze, 
In vapoury folds, o*er the landscape stra3rs, 
And half involves the woodland maxe, 

Like an early widow^s veil. 
Where wimpling tissue from the gaze 
The form half hides, and half betrays. 

Of beauty wan and pale. 

IIL 

Fair Metelill was a woodland maid. 
Her father a rover of greenwood shade, 
By forest statutes undismayed. 

Who lived by bow and quiver ; 
Well known was Wulfstane^s archery. 
By merry Tyne both on moor and lea. 
Through wooded Weardale^s glens so firee. 
Well beside Stanhope^s wildwood tree. 

And well on Ganlesse river. 
Yet free though he trespassed on woodland game, 
More known and more feared was the wizard feme 
Of Jutta of Bookhope, the Outlaw^s dame ; 
Feared when she frowned was her eye of flame. 



T 



Canto II» HAROLD THX DAVNTLVM. 133 

More fear'd when in wrath she laughed ; 
For then, Hwas said, more fatal true 
To its dread aim her spell-glance flew, 
Than when from Wulfstane^s bended yew 

Sprung forth the grey-goose shaft. 

IV. 
Yet had this fierce and dreaded pair. 
So Heaven decreed, a daughter &ir ; 

None brighter crowned the bed. 
In Britain's bounds, of peer or prince, 
Nor hath, perchance, a lovelier since 

In this fair isle been bred. 
And nought of fraud, or ire, or ill. 
Was known to gentle Metelill, — 

A simple maiden she ; 
The spells in dimpled smile that lie, 
And a downcast blush, and the darts that fly 
With the sidelong glance of a hazel eye. 

Were her arms and witchery. 
So young, so simple was she yet. 
She scarce could childhood^t joys forget. 
And still she loved, in secret set 

Beneath the greenwood tree. 
To plait the rushy coronet, 
And braid with flowers her locks of jet, 

As when in infancy v— 
Yet could that heart, so simple, prove 
The early dawn of stealing love : 

Ah ! gentle maid, beware ! 
The power who, now so mild a guest, 
Gives dangerous yet delidoua zest 
To the calm pleasures of thy breaft» 
Will soon, a tyrant o*er the rest. 

Let none his empire share. 



134 HAROLD THB DAUNTLESS. CotUO IL 

V. 

One morn, in kiitle green arrayed. 
Deep in the wood the maiden BtrayM, 

And, where a fomitain spning. 
She gate her down, unseen, to thread 
The scarlet berry^s mimic braid, 

And while the beads she strung. 
Like the blithe lark, whose carol gay 
Gives a good-morrow to the day, 

So Ughtsomely she sung. 

VI. 

" Lord William was bom in gilded bower. 
The heir of Wilton's lofty tower ; 
Yet better loves Lord William now 
To roam beneath wild Eookhope's brow ; 
And William has lived where ladies lair 
With gawds and jewels deck their hair. 
Yet better loves the dewdrops still 
That pearl the locks of Metelill. 

^ The pious Palmer loves, I wis, 
Saint Cuthbert's hallowed beads to kiss ; 
But I, though simple girl I be, 
Might have such homage paid to me ; 
For did Lord William see me suit 
This necklace of the bramble's fruit. 
He fain but must not have his will — 
Would kiss the beads of MeteUIl. 
" My nurse has told me many a tale. 
How vows of love are weak and firail ; 
My mother says that courtly youth 
By rustic maid means seldom sooth. 



Canto If. HAROLD THK DAUNTLX88. 135 

What should they mean ? it cannot be, 
That sueh a waming^s meant for me, 
For nought — oh 1 nought of fraud or ill 
Can William mean to Metelill !** 

VII. 
Sudden ihe stops— and starts to feel 
A weighty hand, a glove of steel. 
Upon her shrinking shoulders laid ; 
Fetuful she tumM, and saw, dismayed, 
A Knight in plate and mail arrayed. 
His crest and bearing worn and fray'd. 

His surcoat soiled and riven, 
Foim'd like that giant race of yore. 
Whose long-continued crimes outwore 

The Buffenmce of Heaven. 
Stem accents made his pleasure known. 
Though then he used his gentlest tone'. 
** Maiden,** he said, ** sing forth thy glee. 
Start not— sing on— it pleases me.* 



« 



VIII. 
Secured within his powerful hold, 
To bend her knee, her hands to fold, 

Was all the maiden might ; 
And ** Oh ! forgive,** she faintly said, 
** The terrors of a simple maid. 

If thou art mortal wight ! 
But if— of such strange tales are told,— 
Unearthly warrior of the wold. 
Thou comest to chide mine accents bold. 
My mother, Jutta, knows the spell. 
At noon and midnight pleasing well. 

The disembodied ear ; 



136 HAROLD THB DAUNTL18S. Conto II, 

Oh ! let her powerful channB atone 
For aught my rashness may have done. 

And cease thy grasp of fear.** 
Then laughed the Knight — ^his laughter*B sound 
Half in the hollow helmet drowned ; 
His barred visor then he raised. 
And steady on the maiden gazed. 
He smoothed his brows, as best he might, 
To the dread calm of autumn night, 

When sinks the tempest roar ; 
Yet still the cautious fishers eye 
The clouds, and fear the gloomy sky. 

And haul their barks on shore. 

IX. 
*« Damsel,** he said, ^ be wise, and leant 
Matters of weight and deep concern : 

From distant realms I come, 
And, wanderer long, at length have planned 
In this my native Northern land 

To seek myself a home. 
Nor that alone — a mate I seek ; 
She must be gentle, soft, and meeky.* 

No lordly dame for me ; 
Myself am something rough of mood. 
And feel the fire of royal blood. 
And therefore do not hold it good 

To match in my degree. 
Then, since coy maidens say my face 
Is harsh, my form devoid of grace. 
For a &ir lineage to provide, 
*Tis meet that my selected bride 

In lineaments be iair ; 
I love thine welL->tiU now I ne*er 



Canto II. HAROLD THE DAUNTLBM. J37 

LookM patient on a fiice of fear. 
But now that tremulous sob and tear 

Become thy beauty rare. 
One Tn'wB nay, damsel, coy it not !— 
And now go seek thy parents* cot. 
And say, a bridegroom soon I come, 
To woo my love, and bear her home/* 

X. 

Home sprung the maid without a pause. 
As leveret ^scaped from greyhound^s jaws ; 
But still she lock'd, however distressed. 
The secret in her boding breast ; 
Dreading her sire, who oft forbade 
Her steps should stray to distant glade. 
Night came — ^to her accustomed nook 
Her distaff aged Jutta took. 
And by the lamp^s imperfect glow, 
Rough Wulfktane tiimm*d his shafts and bow. 
Sudden and clamorous, from the ground 
Upstarted slumbering brach and hound ; 
Loud knocking next the lodge alarms. 
And Wulfstane snatches at his arms, 
When open flew the yielding door. 
And that grim Warrior pressed the floor. 

XL 

** All peace be here — What ! none replies ? 
Dismiss your fears and your surprise. 
Tis I — ^that Maid hath told my tale^— 
Or, trembler, did thy courage &il ? 
It recks not — it is I demand 
Fair Metelill in marriage band ; 



138 HIROLD THE VAVHTLMB. CantO tl, 

Harold the Dsuntless I, whose name 
Is brave xnen^s boast and caitifhi shame/* 
The parents sought each other*s eyes, 
With awe, resentment, and surprise : 
Wulfttane, to quarrel prompt, began 
The stranger^ size and thewes to scan ; 
But as he scanned, his courage sunk. 
And from unequal strife he shrunk. 
Then forth, to 'blight and blemish, flies 
The harmful curse from Jutta*s eyes ; 
Yet, fintal howsoever, the spell 
On Harold innocently fell ! 
And disappointment and amaze 
Were in the witches wilder^ gaze. 

XII. 
But soon the wit of woman woke. 
And to the Warrior mild she spoke : 
" Her child was all too young." — ** A toy. 
The refuge of a maiden coy."-~ 
Again, " A powerful baron^s heir 
Claims in her heart an interest fair." — 
** A trifle — ^whisper in his ear. 
That Harold is a suitor here ! ** — 
Bafiled at length she sought delay : 
^ Would not the Knight tUl morning stay ? 
Late was the hour — ^he there might rest 
Till mom, their lodge's honour'd guest." 
Such were her words, — her craft might cast. 
Her honoured guest should sleep his last : 
*« No, not to-night — ^but soon," he swore, 
« He would return, nor leave them more." 
The threshold then his huge stride ciost, 
And soon he was in darkness lost. 



CafUo II, HAROLD THB DAUNTLB8S. 139 

XIII. 

Appall'd a while the parenti stood. 

Then changed their fear to azigry moed, 

And foremost feU their words of ill 

On unresisting Metelill : 

Was she not cautioned and forbid. 

Forewarned, implored, accused, and chid. 

And must she still to greenwood roam. 

To marshal such misfortune home ? 

'* Hence, minion — ^to thy chamber hence— 

There prudence learn, and penitence/* 

She went — her lonely couch to steep 

In tears which absent lovers weep ; 

Or if she gained a troubled sleep. 

Fierce Harolds suit was still the theme 

And terror of her feverish dream. 

XIV. 
Scarce was she gone, her damo and sire 
Upon each other bent their ire ; ^ 

** A woodsman thou, and hast a spear. 
And couldst thou such an insult bear ?" 
Sullen he said, *•*• A man contends 
With men, a witch with sprites and fiends *, 
Kot to mere mortal wight belong 
Yon gloomy brow and frame so strong. 
But thou-^-is this thy promise fair. 
That your Lord William, wealthy heir 
To Ulrick, Baron of Witton-le- Wear, 
Should Metelill to altar bear ? 
Do all the spells thou boast'st as thine 
Serve but to slay some peasant's kine. 
His grain in autumn storms to steep, 
Or thorough fog and fen to sweep. 



140 HAROLD THE DAUNTLB8S. CoMio II, 

And hag-ride some poor ru8tic*i deep ! 
Is such mean mischief worth the fame 
Of sorceress and witch's name ? 
Fame, which with all men's wish conspires. 
With thj deserts and my desires, 
To damn thy corpse to penal fires ? 
Out on thee, witch ! aroint ! aroint ! 
What now riiaU put thy schemes in joint ? 
What save this trusty arrow's point. 
From the dark dingle when it flies, 
And he who meets it gasps and dies." 

XV. 

Stem she replied, " I will not wage 
War with thy folly or thy rage ; 
But ere the morrow's sun be low, 
Wulfstane of Bookhope, thou shalt know. 
If I can venge me on a foe. 
Believe the while, that whatsoe'er 
I spoke, in ire, of bow and spear. 
It is not Harold''8 destiny 
The death of pilfer'd deer to die. 
But he, and thou, and yon pale moon, 
(That shall be yet more pallid soon. 
Before she sink behind the dell,) 
Thou, she, and Harold too, shall tell 
What Jutta knows of charm or spell." 
Thus muttering, to the door she bent 
Her wayward steps, and forth she went. 
And left alone the moody sire. 
To cherish or to slake his ire. 

XVI. 

Far faster than belong'd to age 
Has Jutta made her pilgrimage. 



CatUo ll» HAROLD TUB DAUNTLISS. 141 

A priest has met her as she passed. 

And cross'd himself and stood aghast : 

She traced a hamlet — not a cur 

His throat would ope, his foot would stir ; 

By crouch, hy tremhling, and hy groan. 

They made her hated presence known ! 

But when she trode the sahle fell, 

Were wilder sounds her way to tell, — 

For far was heard the fox^s yell, 

The hlack-cock waked and faintly crew. 

Scream^ o^er the moss the scared curlew ; 

Where o'er the cataract the oak 

Lay slant, was heard the raven's croak ; 

The mountaiti-cat, which sought his prey 

Glared, scream'd, and started from her way. 

Such music cheer'd her journey lone 

To the deep dell and rocking stone : 

There, with unhallow'd hymn of praise. 

She call'd a God of heathen days. 

XVII. 

Sntiacation* 

^ From thy Pomeranian»throne, 
Hewn in rock of living stone. 
Where, to thy godhead faithful yet. 
Bend Esthonian, Finn, and Lett, 
And their swords in vengeance whet 
That shall make thine altars wet, 
Wet and red for ages more 
With the Christian's hated gore,— 
Hear me ! Sovereign of the Bock, 
Hear me I mighty Zemebock. 

^ Mightiest of the mighty known. 
Here thy wonders have been shown *, 



]42 HAROLD THB DAUNTLBSS. OatUo If- 

Hundred tribes in Tarions tongue 
Oft have here thy praises sung ; 
Down that stone with Runic Beain*d4 
Hundred victims* blood hath streamed ! 
Now one woman comes alone. 
And but wets it with her own, 
The last the feeblest of thy flocky^ 
Hear-— and be present, Zemebock ! 

^ Hark ! he comes ; the night-blast cold 
Wilder sweeps along the wold ; 
The cloudless moon grows dark and dim, 
And bristling hair and quaking limb 
Proclaim the Master Demon nigh, — 
Those who view his form shall die ! 
Lo ! I stoop and veil my head ; 
Thou who ridest the tempest dread. 
Shaking hill and rending oak — 
Spare me ! spare me ! Zemebock. 

^ He comes not yet ! Shall cold delay 
Thy votaress at her need repay ? 
Thou — shall I call thee god or fiend ?,^ 
Let others on thy mood attend 
With prayer and rituaL^utta's arms 
Are necromantic words and charms ; 
Mine is the spell, that, utter'd once. 
Shall wake Thy Master from his trance. 
Shake his red-mansion-house of pain. 
And burst his seven-times-twisted chain ! — 
So ! com*st thou ere the spell is spoke ? 
I own thy presence, Zemebock." — 



Canto IL harold tub dauntlbss. 143 

XVIII. 

^ Daughter of dtut,'* the Deep Voice said, 

—Shook while it spoke the vale for dread, 

Rock*d on the base thai massiye stone. 

The Evil Deity to own,^- 

** Daughter of dust I not mine the power 

Thou seek'st on Harold's fatal hour. 

*Twizt heaven and hell there is a strife 

Waged for his soul and for his life. 

And fisdn would we the combat win. 

And snatch him in his hour of sin. 

There is a star now rising red. 

That threats him with an influence dread ; 

Woman, thine arts of malice whet. 

To use the space before it set. 

Involve him with the church in strife. 

Push on adventurous chance his life ; 

Ourself will in the hour of need. 

As best we may, thy counsels speed.'' 

So ceased the Voice ; for seven leagues round 

Each hamlet started at the sound ; 

But slept again, as slowly died 

Its thunders on the hill'a brown side. 

XIX. 
** And is this all," said Jutta stem, 
^ That thou can'st teach and I can learn ? 
Hence ! to the land of fog and waste, 
There Attest is thine influence placed, 
Thou powerless, sluggish Deity ! 
But ne'er shall Briton bend the knee 
Again before so poor a god." 
She struck the altar with her rod^ 



144 HAROLD TBB DAUNTLBSS. CfotUo If, 

Sii^i was the touch, as when at need 

A damsel stin her tardy steed ; 

But to the blow the stone gave place, 

And, starting from its balanced base, 

BollM thundering down the moonlight dell, — 

Re-echo*d moorland, rock, and fell ; 

Into the moonlight tarn it dashM, 

Their shores the sounding surges lashM, 

And there was ripple, rage, and foam ; 
But on that lake, so dark and lone. 
Placid and pale the moonbeam shone 

As Jutta hied her home. 



[ 145 ] 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



CANTO THIRD. 



L 
Gaby towen of Durham ! there was once a time 
I viewed your battlements with inch yague hope, 
As brightens life in its first dawning prime ; 
Not that e*en then came within fancy^s scope 
A vision Tain of mitre, throne, or cope ; 
Yet, gazing on the venerable hall. 
Her flattering dreams would in perspective ope 
Some reverend room, some prebendary*s stall, — 
And thus Hope me deceived as she deoeiveth all.^ 

Well yet I love thy mix*d and massive piles, 
Half church of God, half castle Against the Scot, 

) [In this stsass oocnn one of many tonches I17 which, in tho 
introdnctorj psMSffM of Harold tho DsontlMi as of Triermain, 
Sir Walter Soott betnya hia half-pnxpoae of identifying the anthor 
with hia friend William Erakine. That gentleman, the aon of an 
Epiaoopnilan deigyman, a stannch drarchmaa, and a man of the 
gentleet habiti^ if he did not in early Ufo deeign to follow the pater- 
nal profomion, might eaally be snppoaed toharenoniiahed inch an 
intentien-Hine wUcb no one conld ever hare di«amt of aacribing 
at any period of hia daya to Sir Walter Soott himaelf] 



146 HAROLD THB DAUMTL1S8. Canto III, 

And long to roam these yeneiable aisles, 
With records stored of deeds long since forgot ; 
There might I share my Surtees' ^ happier lot. 
Who leaves at will his patrimonial field 
To ransack every crypt and hallowM spot. 
And from oblivion rend the spoils they peld, 
Restoring priestly chant and clang of knightly shield. 

Vain is the wish — since other cares demand 
Each vacant hour, and in another clime ; 
But still that northern harp invites my hand. 
Which tells the wonder of thine earlira time ; 
And fain its numbers would I now command 
To paint the beauties of that dawning fiur, 
When Harold, gazing from its lofty stand 
Upon the western heights of Beaurepaire, 
Saw Saxon ESadmer's towers begirt by winding Wear. 

II. 

Fair on the half-seen streams the sunbeams danced. 
Betraying it beneath the woodland bank. 
And fair between the Gothic turrets glanced 
Broad lights, and shadows fell on front and flank. 
Where tower and buttress rose in martial rank. 
And girdled in the massive donjon Keep, 
And from their circuit peaVd o*er bush and bank 
The matin bell with summons long and deep. 
And echo answered still with long-resounding sweep. 

III. 

The morning mists rose from the ground, 
Each merry bird awakened round, 

1 [Robert Snrtoei of Mainrforth, Esq., F.8. A., author of " The 
Historf and Antiquities of the County Palatine of Durham." 3 
Tols. folio, 1816-20-23.] 



C<XKiO III, BABOLD TU DACmTLISS. 147 

As if in revelry; 
Afitf the bugles* ftia-ngit^ sound 
Called to the chase the lagging hound ; 

The gale breathed soft and fiee^ 
And seemM to linger on its way 
To catch firesh odours from the spray. 
And waved it in its wanton play 

So light and gamesomely. 
The scenes which morning beams reveal. 
Its sounds to hear, its gales to feel 
In all their fragrance round him steal. 
It melted Harold^s heart of steel, 
And, hardly wotting why, 
He doffed his helmet*ft gloomy pride. 
And hung it on a tree beside, 

Laid mace and falchion by. 
And on the greensward sate him down. 
And from his dark habitual frown 

Belaz'd his rugged brow-» 
Whoever hath the doubtful task 
From that stem Dane a boon to ask. 

Were wise to ask it now. 

IV. 

His place beside young Gimnar took, 
And marked his master^s softening look. 
And in his eye^s dark mirror spied 
The gloom of stormy thoughts subside. 
And cautious watched the fittest tide 

To speak a warning word. 
So when the torrent^s billows shrink. 
The timid pilgrim on the brink 
Waits long to see them wave and sink, 

Ere he dare bmve the ford. 



148 HAROLD THB DAUNTL188. CantO III. 

And often, after doubtfiil pause. 
His step advances or withdraws : 
Feaiflil to move the slumbering ire 
Of his stem lord, thus stood the squire. 

Till Harold raised his eye, 
TtaX glanced as when athwart the shroud 
Of the dispersing tempest-cloud 

The bursting sunbeams fly. 

V. 

** Arouse thee, son of Ermengarde, 
Offspring of prophetess and bard ! 
Take harp, and greet this lovely prime 
With some high strain of Runic rh3rme. 
Strong, deep, and powerful I Peal it round 
Like that loud bell\i sonorous sound. 
Yet wild by fits, as when the lay 
Of bird and bugle hail the day. 
Such was my grandsire Erick^s sport, 
When dawn gleamed on his martial court 
Heymai the Scald, with harp's high sound, 
Summoned the chie& who slept around ; 
Couched on the spoils of wolf and bear. 
They roused like lions from their bur, 
Then rushed in emulation forth 
To enhance the glories of the north.— 
Proud Erick, mightiest of thy race. 
Where is thy shadowy resting-place ? 
In wild Valhalla hast thou quaff "d 
From fi>eman\i skull metheglin draught. 
Or wanderVt where thy cairn was piled 
To frown o*er oceans wide and wild ? 
Or have the milder Christians given 
Thy refuge in their peacefiil heaven ? 



Canto III, HABOLD THB OAUNTLBW. 149 

Wherever thou art, to thee are known 
Our toils endured, our trophies won. 
Our wars, our wanderings, and our woet.** 
He ceased, and Gunnar^ song arose. 

VI. 

tons. 

** Hawk and osprey screamed for joj 
0*er the beetling cliffb of Hoy, 
Crimson foam the beach overspread. 
The heath was dyed with darker red. 
When o^er Erick, Ingnar\i son, 
Dane and Northman piled the stone ; 
Singing wild the war-song stem, 

* Rest thee, Dweller of the Caim 1 ' 

^ Where eddying currents foam and boll 
By Bersa*s burgh and Grasmsay^s isle, 
The seaman sees a martial ibzm 
Half-mingled with the mist and storm. 
In anxious awe he bears away 
To moor his bark in Stromna\i bay, 
And murmurs from the bounding stem, 

* Best thee, Dweller of the Caim ! * 

^ What cares disturb the mighty dead ? 
Each honour*d rite was duly paid ; 
No daring hand thy helm unlaced. 
Thy sword, thy shield, were near thee placed. 
Thy flinty couch no tear profaned. 
Without, with hostile blood was stainM ; 
Within, *twas lined with moss and fem^-- 
Then rest thee, Dweller of the Caim !-» 



15% BAMOhD TBE DAWnUBU, Omto ill, 

** He msf not mi: fiom ntfans afiur 
Comet Toiee of battle and of war. 
Of oonqoest wroqg^t widi bloody band 
On Oannel^ diflb and Joidan^ etmid, 
Wbea Odin^ wariike ion could daimt 
The tmbanM iace of Tennagaimt.*' 

VIL 
«*Peaee,'* laid the Knight, «• the noble-Scald 
Our warlike fliiher\i deeds iecall*d, 
But nerer strove to loothe the son 
WiUi tales of what himself had done. 
At Odin\i board the bard sits hig^ 
Whose harp ne*er stooped to flattery ; 
But highest he whose daring lay 
Hath dared unwelcome truths to say/* 
With doubtfiil smile young Qunnar eyed 
His master^i looks, and nought replied— 
But well that smile his master led 
To construe what he left unsaid. 
** Is it to me, thou timid youth. 
Thou fear^ to speak unwelcome truth ? 
My soul no more thy censure grieves 
Than frosts rob laurels of their leaves. 
Say on— and yet — beware the rude 
And wild distemper of my blood ; 
Loath were I that mine ire should wrong 
The youth that bore my shield so long, 
And who, in service constant still. 
Though weak in frame, art strong in will.**— 
** Oh I** quoth the page, ^ even there depends 
My counsel— there my warning tends-— 
Oft seems as of my master^i breast 
. Some demon were the sudden guest ; 



Canio III. habold thb dauntlbss. 151 

Then at the fint miscontrued word 
His hand is on the mace and swoid. 
From her firm seat his wisdom driven, 
HiB life to countless dangers given.— 
O ! would that Gunnar could suffice 
To be the fiend^s last sacrifice. 
So that, when glutted with my gore. 
He fled and tempted thee no more !** 

VIII. 
Then waved his hand, and shook his head 
The impatient Dane, while thus he said : 
^ Pro&ne not, youths — it is not thine 
To judge the spirit of our line — 
The bold Berserkar^ rage divine. 
Through whose inspiring, deeds are wrought 
Past human strength and human thought. 
When full upon his gloomy soul 
The champion feels the influence roll. 
He swims the lake, he leaps the wall — 
Heeds not the depth, nor plumbs the fiiU— 
Unshielded, mail-less, on he goes 
Singly against a host of foes ; 
Their qtears he holds like withered reeds. 
Their mail like maiden^s silken weeds ; 
One Against a hundred will he strive. 
Take countless wounds, and yet survive. 
Then rush the eagles to his cry 
Of slaughter and of victory, — 
And blood he quafis like Odin^s bowl, 
Deep drinks his sword, — deep drinks his soul ; 
And all that meet him in his ire 
He gives to ruin, rout, and fire. 
Then, like gorged lion, seeks some en. 
And couches till he\i man agen.— 



152 HABOLD THB DAUNTLISS. QuOo III, 

Thou know'M the ogns of look and Umb, 
When *gin8 that lage to OTerbrun— 
Thou know*Bt when I am moved, and whj ; 
And when thou seest me roll mine eye, 
Set my teeth thus, and stamp my foot, 
B^gaid thy safety and be mute ; 
But else speak boldly out whatever 
Is fitting that a knight should hear. 
I lore thee, youth. Thy lay has power 

Upon my daxk and sullen hour ; 

So Christian monks are wont to say 
Demons of old were charmed away ; 
Then fear not I will rashly deem 
111 of thy speech, whatever the theme.** 

IX. 
As down some strait in doubt and dread 
The watchful pilot drops the lead. 
And, cautious in the midst to steer. 
The shoaling channel sounds with fear ; 
So, lest on dangerous ground he swerred. 
The Page his ma8ter*8 brow observed. 
Pausing at intervals to fling 
His hand on the melodious string, 
And to his moody breast apply 
The soothing chann of harmony. 
While hinted half, and half exprest. 
This warning song conveyed the rest 

ions. 
1. 

** lU &reB the bark with tackle riven. 
And ill when on the breakers driven,^— 
111 when t^e storm-sprite shrieks in air. 
And the scared mermaid tears her hair ; 



Canto III. HAROLD TBI DAUNTLB88. 158 

But worse when on her helm the liand 
Of some false tmitor holds command* 

2. 

** 111 fares the fkinting Palmer, placed 
'Mid Hebron^s rocks or Rana*s wastes— 
111 when the scorching sun is high, 
And the expected font is drj,— 
Worse when his guide o'er sand and heath. 
The barbarous Copt, has phum'd his death. 

8. 
« 111 faxes the Knight with buckler cleft, 
And ill when of his helm berefV— 
111 when his steed to earth is flung, 
Or from, his grasp his falchion wrung ; 
But worse, if instant ruin token. 
When he lists rede bj woman spoken.''— 

X. 

** How now, fond boy ?~.CanBt thou think ill," 
Said Harold, «« of fkir Metelill?"— 
^ She may be fiur," the Page replied. 

As through the strings he ranged^— 
** She may be fair ; but yet," — ^he cried. 

And then the strain he changed, 

tons* 
1. 

** She may be &ir," he sang, *' but yet 

Far fairer have I seen 
Than she, for all her locks of jet. 

And eyes so dark and sheen. 



154 HAROLD THB DAUNTLESS. ComfO III. 

Were I a Danish knight in arms, 

As one day I may be, 
My heart should own no foreign charms^i^ 

A Danish maid for me. 

2. 

** I love my &ther'a northern land. 

Where the dark pine-trees grow. 
And the bold Baltic's echoing strand 

Looks o'er each grassy oe.^ 
I love to mark the lingering sun. 

From Denmark loth to go. 
And leaving on the billows bright. 
To cheer the short-lived summer night, 

A path of ruddy glow. 

3. 

«* But most the northern maid I love, 

With breast like Denmark's snow. 
And form as fair as Denmark's pine. 
Who loves witli purple heath to twine 

Her locks of sunny glow ; 
And sweetly blend that shade of gold 

With the cheek's rosy hue, 
And Faith might for her mirror hold 

That eye of matchless blue. 

4. 

" 'Tis hers the manly sports to love 

That southern maidens fear. 
To bend the bow by stream and grove. 

And lift the hunter's spear. 

1 O^— Island. 



CfantO III. HAROtD THK DAUNTLBO. 155 

She can her chosen champion^s flight 

With eye undi^ed see. 
Clasp him victorious from the strife, 
Or on his corpse yield up her lifey— 

A Danish maid for me ! *^ 

XL 

Then smiled the Dane — ** Thou canst so well 

The virtues of our maidens tell. 

Half could I wish my choice had been 

Blue eyes, and hair of golden sheen, 

And lofty soul ;— yet what of ill 

Hast thou to charge on Metelill ?**— 

" Nothing on her,"^ young Gunnar said, 

'* But her base sirens ignoble trade. 

Her mother, too-^the general fame 

Hath given to Jutta evil name. 

And in her gray eye is a flame 

Art cannot hide, nor fear can tame. — 

That sordid woodman*s peasant cot 

Twice have thine honoured footsteps sought. 

And twice returned with such ill rede 

As sent thee on some desperate deed/* — 

XII. 

^ Thou errest ; Jutta wisely said, 
He that comes suitor to a maid. 
Ere linked in marriage, should provide. 
Lands and a dwelling for his bride^* 
My £Either's by the Tyne and Wear 
I have reclaimed.**— ^ O, all too dear. 
And all too dangerous the prize, 

I L" Nothing on her," is the reading of the interleaved copy of 
1831—" On her nought," in all the former editions.] 



156 HAROLD TBB DAUNTLB88. CoiUo III. 

E*en were it won/* young Gmmar cries ;«-. 
** And then this Jutta^ fresh device, 
That thou shouldst seek, a heathen Dane, 
From Durham's priests a hoon to gain. 
When, thou hast left their vassals slain 
In their own halls I "—Flashed Harold's eye. 
Thundered his voice — *^ False Page, you lie ! 
The castle, hall and tower, is mine. 
Built by old Witikind on Tyne. 
The wild-cat will defend his den. 
Fights for her nest the timid wren *, 
And think>t thou 1*11 forego my right 
For dread of monk or monkish knight ?— 
Up and away, that deepening bell 
Doth of the Bishop's conclave tell. 
Thither will I, in manner due. 
As Jutta bade, my claim to sue ; 
And, if to right me they are loth. 
Then woe to church and chapter both ! " 
Now shift the scene, and let the curtain fall. 
And our next entry be Saint Cuthbert*S hall. 



[ IB7 ] 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



CANTO FOURTH. 



I. 

FvLL manj a bard hath nuig the solemn gjoom 
Of the long Gothic aisle and stone-ribbed roof, 
O'er^canopjing shrine, and goxgeons tomb, 
Carred screen, and altar glimmering fiir aloof^ 
And blending with the shade a matchless proof 
Of hig^ devotion, which hath now waz*d cold ; ' 
Yet legends say, that Luxurjr^s brote hoof 
Intruded oft within such sacred fold. 
Like step of BePs fidse priest, tracVd in his ftne of old.* 

1 C"AUiiliaah'd,fladitUlMd«stli— HisdfMdftdf 
How zereraiid is the fiwe of thk tall pile, 
Whofo aadont pQlsn rear their marble heads. 
To bear aloft ita axch'd and poadefoiu roof, 
Bf ita own weight made ateadfiut and inuaorable^ 
Looking traaqiiillityf Itateikesanawe 
And terror on my aching eight. The tombe 
And momimental caree of death look oold. 
And shoot a chfUnwa to mj tiembliiv heart." 

Coirajunrn'e Mourning Bride, Act II. se. 1. 
See al«> Joanna Baillie'a " De Montfort,** Acta IV. and V.] 

• [See, fai the ApooTPlMl Booia, " The Hiatory of Bel and the 
DxagoD.'^ 



158 HABOLD THE DAUNTLESS. CotOo IV. 

Well pleased am I, howe'er, that when the route 
Of OUT rude neighbours whilome deign'd to come. 
Uncalled, and eke unwelcome, to sweep out 
And cleanse our chancel from the rags of Rome, 
They spoke not on our ancient feme the doom 
To which their bigot zeal gave o^er their own. 
But spared the martyr^ saint and storied tomb. 
Though papal miiades had graced the stone. 
And though the aisles still loved the oigan^s swelling 
tone. 

And deem not, though ^is now my part to paint 
A prelate sway*d by love of power and gold. 
That all who wore the mitre of our Saint 
lake to ambitious Aldingar I hold ; 
Since both in modem times and days of old 
It sate on those whose virtues might atone 
Their predecessors* frailties trebly told : 
Matthew and Morton we as such may own — 
And such (if fame speak truth) the honour^'d Barring- 
ton.» 

II. 

But now to earlier and to ruder times. 
As subject ineet, I tune my rugged rhymes. 
Telling how &irly the chapter was met. 
And rood and books in seemly order set ; 
Huge brajBSFclasp^d volumes, which the hand 
Of studious priest but rarely scanned, 

1 [See, for the Urea of Bbhop Matthew and Biahop Morton, here 
allnded to, Mr. Surtees's History of the Bishopric of Durham : the 
yenerable Shute Barrington, their honoured sncceflsor, ever a kind 
friend of Sir Walter Soott, died in 18960 



Canto IV. HAROLD TBB DA UNTLI88. 159 

Now on fair carved desk displayM, 

Twas theirs the solemn scene to aid. 

O'eihead with many a scutcheon graced. 

And quaint devices interlaced, 

A labyrinth of crossing rows, 

The roof in lessening arches shows ; 

Beneath its shade placed proud and high, 

With footstool and with canopy. 

Sate Aldingar, and prelate ne^er 

More haughty graced Saint Cuthbert^s chair ; 

Canons and deacons were placed below, 

In due degree and lengthen^ row. 

Unmoved and silent each sat there. 

Like image in his oaken chair ; 

Nor head, nor hand, nor foot they stirrM, 

Nor lock of hair, nor tress of beard ; 

And of their eyes severe alone 

The twinkle showed they were not stone. 

III. 

The Prelate was to speech addressed. 

Each head sunk reverent on each breast ; 

But ere his voice was heard^i^without 

Arose a wild tumultuous shout. 

Offspring of wonder mix^d with fear. 

Such as in crowded streets we hear 

Hailing the flames, that, bursting out. 

Attract yet scare the rabble rout. 

Ere it had ceased, a giant hand 

Shook oaken door and iron band. 

Till oak and iron both gave way. 

Clashed the long bolts, the hinges bray, 
And, ere upon angel or saint they can call. 
Stands Harold the Dauntless in midst of the halL 



160 KAAOLS THB DAT7NTL188. Canto IV, 

IV. 

** Now tave ye, my masteiB, both rocket and rood. 
From Bishop with mitre to Deacon with hood ! 
For here stands Count Harold, old Witikind's son. 
Come to sue for the lands which his ancestors won.*' 
The Prelate look*d round him with sore troubled eye. 
Unwilling to grant, yet afraid to deny ; 
While each Canon and Deacon who heard the Dane 

speak. 
To be safely at home would haye &8ted a week :— 
Then Aldingar roused him, and answered again, 
** Thou suest for a boon which thou canst not obtain ; 
The church hath no fiefii for an unchristen'd Dane. 
Thy fiither was wise, and his treasure hath given. 
That the priests of a chantry might hymn him to 

heaTen ; 
And the fie& which whilome he possessed as his due. 
Have lapsed to the church, and been granted anew 
To Anthony Conyers and Alberic Vere, 
For the service St Cuthbert*s blessed banner to bear. 
When the bands of the North come to foray the Wear ; 
Then disturb not our condave with wrangl^ or blame. 
But in peace and in patience pass hence as ye came/* 

V. 

Loud laughed the stem Pagan^— .'^ They're free finm the 

care 
Of fief and of service, both Conyen and Vere^-. 
Six feet of your chancel is all they will need, ^ 
A buckler of stone and a corslet of lead.-* 
Ho, Gunnar ! — ^the token ! ''—and, sever'd anew, 
A head and a hand on the altar he threw. 
Then shudder'd with terror both Canon and Monk, 
They knew the glased eye and the counteuanoe ihriuky 



W^^^^"-™^*"*^ 



Canto I V, HJk ROLD THE DA UNTLB8S. 161 

And of Anthony Conyers the half-grizzled hair. 
And the scar on the hand of Sir Alberic Vere. 
There was not a churchman or priest that was there, 
But grew pale at the sight, and betook him to prayer. 

VI. 

Coimt Harold laughed at their looks of fear ; 

•( Was this the hand should your banner bear ? 

Was that the head should wear the casque 

In battle at the churches task ? 

Was it to such you gave the place 

Of Harold with the heavy mace ? ' 

Find me between the Wear and Tjrne « . i 

A knight will wield this dub of mine,— * . I*. - . , 

Give him my fiefs, and I will say ^.) 

There's wit beneath the qowI of gp^y." 

He raised it, rough with many a stain, 

Caught from crushed skull and spouting brain ; 

He wheePd it that it shrilly sung. 

And the aisles echoed as it swung. 

Then dash*d it down with sheer descent. 

And split King Osric's monument.^^ 

** How like ye this music ? How txow ye the hand 

That can wi^ld such a mace may be reft of its land ? 

No answer ? — I spare ye a space to agree, 

And Saint Cuthbert inspiiv you, a saint if he be. 

Ten strides through your chancel, ten strokes on your 

beU, 
And again I am with you— grave flathers, fiurewell.'' 



»» 



VII. 
He turned from ^eir presence, he clashM the oak door, 
And the dang of his stride died away on the floor ; 



162 HAROLD THS DAUNTLV68. Ckmto IV, 

And his head from hia bosom the Pielate uprears 
With a ghost-seer^ look when the ghost disappears. 
** Ye Priests of Saint Cuthbeitt now give me your rede. 
For never of counsel had Bishop more need ! 
Were the arch-fiend incarnate in flesh and in bone, 
The language, the look, and the laugh, were his own. 
In the bounds of Saint Guthbert there is not a knight 
Dare confront in our quarrel yon goblin in fight ; 
Then rede me aright to his claim to reply, 
'Tis unlawful to grant, and *tis death to deny.** 

VIIL 
On venVon and malmsie that morning had fbd 
The Cellarer Vinsauf^^twas thus that he said ; 
<* Delay till to-morrow the Chapter*s reply ; 
Let the feast be spread fiur, and the wine be pourM 

high: 
If he*b mortal he drinksy— if he drinks, he is ours— 
His bracelets of iron, — his bed in our towers.** 
This man had a laughing eye, 
Trust not, friends, when such you spy ; 
A beaker^ depth he well could drain, 
Beyel, sport, and jest amaig— 
The haunch of the deer and the grape*s bright dye 
Never bard loved them better than I ; 
But sooner than Yinsauf fill*d me my wine, 
Pafls*d me- his jest, and laogVd at mine. 
Though the buck were of Bearpark, of Bourdeaux the 

vine. 
With the dullest hermit I*d rather dine 
On an oaten cake and a draught of the Tyne. 

IX. 

Walwayn the Leech spoke next — he knew 
Each plant that loves the sun and dew, 



Cbnto iV* HABOLD THB DAUMTLIM. 168 

But ipedal those whoae jnioe em gain 

Domiiii<m o*er the blood and biain ; 

The peaaant who aaw him by pale moonbeam 

Gathering euch herbs by bank and stream, 

Deem*d his thin form and soundless trsad 

^Teie those of wandenf from the deod» 

** Vinsmif^ thy wine,** he said, ** hath power. 

Our gyres are heavy, strong our tower ; 

Yet three drops from this flask of mine^ 

More strong than dungeons, gyres, or wine. 

Shall give him prison under ground 

More dark, more narrow, mora profound. 

Short rede, good rede, let Harold haT^ 

A dog*s death and a heathen*s gruTe.** 

Ithave lain on a sick man^ bed. 

Watching for hours for the leedi*a tread. 

As if I deem*d that his presence alone 

Were of power to bid my pain begone ; 

I have listed his words of comfort giTen, 

As if to oracles from heaven ; 

I have counted his steps from my chamber door. 

And bless*d them when they wen heard no moro v» 

But sooner than Walwayn my sick couch should nigh. 

My choice wera by leech-eraft unaided to die. 

X. 

** Such sendee done in fonrent seal 
The Church may pardon and oonoeal,** 
The doubtful Prelate said, « but ne*er 
The counsel ero the act should hear.*— 
Anselm of Jairow, advise us now. 
The stamp of wudom is on thy brow ; 
Thy days, thy nights, in clobter pent, 
Are still to mystic learning lent v» 



164 HABOLD THI DAUMTLSS8. Chnto IF. 

Anselm of Jairow, in thee is my hope. 

Thou well xnayst give counsel to Prelate or Pope.** 

XI. 

Answered the Prior — ** *Tia wisdom^ use 

StiU to dekty what we dare not refuse ; 

Eie granting the boon he comes hither to ask, 

Shape for the giant gigantic task ; 

liOt us see how a step so sounding can tread 

In paths of darkness, danger, and dread ; 

He max not, he will not, impugn our decree. 

That calls but for proof of his chivalry ; 

And were Guy to return, or Sir fievis the Strong, 

Our wilds have adventure might cumber them long — 

The Castle of Seven Shields** ** Kind Anselm no 

more ! 
The step of the Pagan approaches the door.** 
The churchmen were hush*d. — In his mantle of skin, 
With his mace on his shoulder. Count Harold strode in. 
There was foam on his lips, there was fire in his eye. 
For, chafed by attendance, his fiuy was nigh. 
^Ho! Bishop,** he said, ** dost thou grant me my 

chum? 
Or must I assert it by Mchion and flame P** — 

XII. 
'' On thy suit, gallant Harold,** the Bishop replied 
In accents which trembled, '* we may not decide. 
Until proof of your strengUi and your valour we Baw~- 
*Tis not that we doubt them, but such is the law.**-^ 
^ And would you. Sir Prelate, have Harold make sport 
For the cowls and the shavelings that herd in thy court .' 
Say what shall he do ? — From the shrine shall he tear 
The lead bier of thy patron, and heave it in air. 



N 



Canto IV. HAKOLD THS OAUNTLB66. 165 

And through the long chancel make Cuthhert take wing. 
With the speed of a bullet disminM from the sling ?*" — 
** Nay, spare such probation,** the Cellarer said, 
** From the mouth of our minstrels thy task shall be 

read. 
While the wine sparkles high in the goblet of gold. 
And the revel is loudest, thy task shall be told ; 
And thyself, gallant Harold, shall, hearing it, tell 
That the Bishop, his cowls, and his shavelings, meant 

well." 

XIII. 
Loud revelled the guests, and the goblets loud rang. 
But louder the minstrel, Hugh Meneville, sang ; 
And Harold, the hurry and pride of whose soul, 
E*en when verging to fury, own*d music*s control. 
Still bent on the harper his broad sable eye. 
And often untasted the goblet passed by ; 
Than wine, or than WBasail* to him was more dear 
The minstrers high tale of enchantment to hear ; 
And the Bishop that day might of Vinsauf complain 
That his art had but waited his wine-casks in vain. 

XIV. 

Z!fyt €natU at t^t g^thm t^itXtti. 

A BALLAD. 

Thb Draid Uiien had daughters seven, 
Their skill could call the moon from heaven ; 
So fidr their forms and so high their fame. 
That seven proud kings for their suiton came. 

King Mador and Rhys came from Powis and Wales, 
Unshom waa theix hair, and unpruned were their na^ ; 



166 HAROLD THS DAUMTLBSe. GufltO IV. 

From Strath-Clwyde was Ewain, and Ewain was lame. 
And the led-bearded Donald from Galloway came. 

Lot, King of Lodon, was hunchbacked ftom. youth ; 
Dunmail of Cumbria had neyer a tooth ; 
Bat Adolf of Bambrough, Northumberland's heir. 
Was gay and Was gallant, was young and was fiur. 

There was strife *moogBt the sisters, for each one would 

have 
For husband King Adolf, the gallant and brave ; 
And envy bred hate, and hate urged them to blows^ 
When the firm earth was deft, and the Arch*fiend 

arose! 

He swore to the maidens their wish to fulfil— 
They swore to the foe they would work by his will. 
A spindle and distaff to each hath he given, 
^ Now hearken my spell,** said the Outcast of heaven. 

**' Ye shall ply these spindles at midnight hour. 

And for every spindle shall rise a tower. 

Where the right shall be feeble, the wrong shall have 

power. 
And there shall ye dweU with your panunoui/* 

Beneath the pale moonlight they sate on the wold. 
And the rhymes which they chaunted must never be 

told; 
And as the black wool from the distaff they sped. 
With blood from their bosoms they moistened the thread. 

As light danced the spindles beneath the cold gleam. 
The castle arose like the birth of a dream— 



Canio IV. habold the davntlxm. 167 

The MTen towen ascended like mist from the gromid. 
Seven portals defend them, seven ditches surround. 

Within that dread castle sev^ monarchs were wed. 
But six of the seven ere the morning lay dead ; 
With their eyes all on fire, and their daggers all red, 
Seven damsels surround the Northumhrian*s bed. 

** Six kingly bridegrooms to death we have done. 

Six gallant kingdoms Song Adolf hath won. 

Six lovely brides all his pleasure to do. 

Or the bed of the seventh shall be husbandless too.** 

Well chanced it that Adolf the night when he wed 
Had confessed and had sained him ere boune to his bed ; 
He sprung from the couch and his broadsword he drew. 
And there the seven daughters of Urien he slew. 

The gate of the castle he bolted and seal*d. 
And hung o*er each arch-stone a crown and a shield ; 
To the cells of St Dunstan then wended his way. 
And died in his cloister an anchorite gray. 

Seven monarchs* wealth in that castle lies stow*d. 
The foul fiends brood o*er them like raven and toad. ' 
Whoever shall guesten these chambers within. 
From curfew till matins^ that treasure shall win. 

But manhood grows famt as the world waxes old ; 
There lives not in Britain a champion so bold. 
So dauntless of heart, and so prudent of brain. 
As to dare the adventure that treasure to gain. 

The waste ridge of Cheviot shall wave with the rye, 
Before the rude Scots shall Northumberland fly. 






168 HAROLD TBB DAUNTLSS8. Catlio IV. 

And the flint clifU of Bambro* shall melt in the son. 
Before that adventure be peiil'd and won.^ 

XV. 

** And is this my probation ?** wild Harold he said, 
** Within a lone castle to press a lone bed ? — 
Good even, my Lord Bishop^ — Saint Cuthbert to bor- 
row. 
The Castle of Seven Shields receives me to-morrow/* 



1 ["ThewOTd 'peril/ is oontiiiiially uaed as a verb by both 
mitofi: 

' Nor peril aught for me agen.* 

Lady ^the hakt. Canto ii. st 86. 
* I peril'd thus the helpless child/ 

Lvrd qfOu Islei. Canto t. st 10. 
' Were the blood of all my anceston in my veinB, I would 
hare peril'd it in this qnaneL' 

fTavert^. 

' I were nndeeerrix^ his grace, did I not peril it for his 
good.' 

Ivanhoe. 
ftc die."— Adolpbob' Letten <m the Author qf fTaverkif.^ 



169 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



CANTO FIFTH. 



I. 
DtNMAKiCs aage courtier to her piineely youth, 
Granting his cloud an ouzd or a whale,^ 
Spoke, though unwittingly, a partial truth ; 
For Fantasy emhroiden Nature** TeiL 
The tints of ruddy eve, or dawning pale. 
Of the swart thunder-cloud, or silver haze. 
Are but the ground- work of the rich detail , 
Which Fantasy with pencil wild portrays, 
Blending what seems and is, in the wrapt muser*s gaze. 

Nor are the stubborn forms of earth and stone 
Less to the Sorceresses empire given ; 

1 [" Hamlet Do yon see yonder dond, thst'i almost in shape 
of a camel? 
Pobmhu. By the man, and 'tis like a camel, indeed. 
Ham. Methinks, it is like a weasel. 
PoL It is back'd like a weaseL 
Ham. Or, like a whale? 
PM. Very like a whale." 

Hamkt.l 



170 HABOLD THK DAUNTLIS8. Canto V. 

For not with uiiBulwtaiitial hues alone, 
Caught from the TBzying miige, or vacant heaven, 
From bunting sanb«mi, or from flaahing levin. 
She limns her pictures: on the earth, as air. 
Arise her castles, and her car is driven ; 
And nevor gaxed the eye on scene so fiiir. 
But of its boasted channs gave Fancy half the share. 

11. 
Up a wild pass went Harold, bent to prove, 
Hugh Meneville, the adventure of thy lay ; 
Gunnar pursued his steps in fidth and love, 
Ever companion of his master^s way. 
Midward their path, a rock of granite gray 
From the adjoiAing cliff had made descent^— 
A barren mass — ^yet with her drooping spray 
Had a young birch-tree crownM its battlement. 
Twisting her fibrous roots through cranny, flaw and rent. 

This rock and tree could Gunnar^s thought engage 
Till Fancy brought the tear-drop to his eye. 
And at his master ask^d the timid Page, 
** What is the emblem that a bard should spy 
In that rude rock and its green canopy ?^* 
And Harold said, <« Like to the hehnet brave 
Of warrior slain in fight it seems to lie, 
And these same drooping boughs do o*er it wave 
Not all unlike the plume iiis lady*s fiivour gave."— 

« Ah, no I " replied the Page ; " the ill-starr'd love 
Of some poor maid is in the emblem shown, 
Whose fates are with some heroes interwove. 
And rooted on a heart to love imknown : 
And as the gentle dews of heaven alone 



OudO V, HAROtD TUB DAUNTLB8S. 171 

Kouriflh thoee drooping boughfl, and as the scathe 
Of the red lightning lends both tree and stone. 
So fines it with her unrequited fiiith^^ 
Her sole relief is tears— her only refnge death.**.^ 

III. 
<« Thou art a fond fimtasiic boy/* 
Harold replied, ** to females coy. 

Yet prating still of loye ; 
Eren so amid the dash of war 
I know thou loyest to keep a&r. 
Though destined bj thy eTil star 

With one like me to rore. 
Whose business and whose joys axe faaad 
Upon the bloody battle-ground. 
Yet, foolish trembler as thou art. 
Thou hast a nook of my rude heart, 
And thou and I will never part v— 
Harold would wrap the world in flame 
Ere injury on Gunnar came.** 

IV. 

The grateful Page made no reply. 
But tum*d to Heaven his gentle eye. 
And clasp*d his hands, as one who said, 
<* My toils — my wanderings are overpaid I ** 
Then in a gayer, lighter strain. 
Compelled himself to speech again : 

And, as they flow*d along. 
His wordiB took cadence soft and slow. 
And liquid, like dissolying snow. 

They melted into song. 



172 MASUOLD THE DAUNTL188. CantO 

V. 

** What though throng^ fields of carnage wide 
I may not follow Haiold*8 stride. 
Yet who with fiuthfiil Ghumar^s pride 

Lord Harold's feats can see ? 
And dearer than the couch of pride 
He loves the bed of gray wolf's hide, 
When slumbering by Lord Harold's side 

In forest, field, or lea.".i— 

VI. 
« Break off t ** said Harold, in a tone 
Where hurry and surprise were shown. 

With some slight touch of fear^— 
^ Break off, we are not here alone ; 
A Palmer form comes slowly on ! 
By cowl, and staff, and mantle known. 

My monitor is near. 
Now mark him, Gunnar, heedfully ; 
He pauses by the blighted tree — 
Dost see him, youth ? — ^Thou couldst not see 
When in the vale of Gralilee 

I first beheld his form, 
Nor when we met that other while 
In Cephalonia's rocky isle. 

Before the fearfol storm, — 
Dost see him now ? "—The Page, distraught 
With terror, answer'd, ** I see nought. 

And there is nought to see, 
Save that the oak's scathed boughs fiing down 
Upon the path a shadow brown. 
That, like a pilgrim's dusky gown. 

Waves with the waving tree.' 



« 



I 



CafUo V, HAROLD THB DAUNTLI6S. 173 

VII. 

Count Harold gazed upon the oak 
Ab if his eyestrings would have broke, 

And then resolvedly said«— 
" Be what it will yon phantom gray^- 
Nor heaven, nor hell, shall ever say 
That for their shadows from his way 

Count Harold turned dismay^ : 
I'll speak him, though his accents fill 
My heart with that unwonted thrill 

Which vulgar minds call fear.^ 
I will subdue it ! "—Forth he strode, 
Paused where the blighted oak-tree show'd 
Its sable shadow on the road. 
And, folding on his bosom broad 
His arms, said, « Speak— I hear." 

VIII. 
The Deep Voice* said, " O wild of wiU, 
Furious thy purpose to fulfil*- 
Heart seared and unrepentant still. 
How long, O Harold, shall thy tread 
Disturb the slumbers of the dead ? 
Each step in thy wild way thou makest, 
The ashes of the dead thou wsikest ; 
And shout in triumph o'er thy path 
The fiends of bloodshed and of wrath. 

t [" I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape." 

s [«• Why sit'st thou by that ruin'd hall 
ThoH aged carle, so stern and gray ? 

* » ♦ ♦ 

* Know St thou not me V the deep Voice cried." 

Wawrley NwOt^Jsntiquanft vol. r. p, 145.'] 



174 HABOLD THB DAUMTLKM. Ckinto V, 

In this thine hour, jet torn and hear ! 
For life ii brief and Judgment near.** 

IX. 

Then eeaied The Yoioe. — ^The Dane replied 

In tones where awe and inborn pride 

For maeteij BtroTe^— *^ In vain ye chide 

The wolf for ravaging the flock. 

Or with its hardness taunt the rock^ — 

I am as they — my Danish strain 

Sends streams of fire through ey*ry vein. 

Amid thy realms of goule and ghost. 

Say, is the fiime of Erick lost. 

Or Witikind*s the Waster, known 

Where fiune or spoil was to be won *, 

Whose galleys ne*er bore off a shore 
They left not black with flame ? — 

He was my sire, and, sprung of him. 

That rorer merciless and grim. 
Can I be soft and tame ? 
Part hence, and with my crimes no more upbraid me, 
I am that Waster^k son, and am but what he made me.** 

X. 

The Phantom gnMui*d v— the mountain shook around 

The &wn and wild-doe started at the sound. 

Hie gone and fern did wildly round ihem wave^ 

As if some sudden stoim the impulse gave. 

« All thou hast said is truth— Yet on the head 

Of that bad sire let not the duuge be laid, 

Tliat he, like thee, with unrelenting pace. 

From gmre to cradle ran the evil race: — . 

Belentless in his avarice and ire^ 

Ghnzches and towns he gave to sword and fire •, 



CkniO V. HAROLD THE DAUNTLKSS. 175 

Shed blood like water, wasted ereiy land. 

Like the destroying angePB boming biand ; 

Fulfilled whatever of ill might be invented. 

Yea— all these things he did^-he did, but he bkpintbd I 

Perchance it is part of his punishment still. 

That his oflbpiing pursues his example of ilL 

But thou, when thy tempest of wrath shall next shake 

thee. 
Gird thy loins fbr resistance, my son, and awake thee ; 
If thou yieldVt to thy fury, how tempted soever. 
The gate of repentance shall ope fbr thee nxvbr !**— 

XI. 

** He is gone,*^Baid Lord Harold, and gazed as he spoke ; 
** Thero is nought on the path but the shade of the oak. 
He is gone, whose strange presenoe my fbeUng op- 

pressM, 
Like the night-hag that sits on the slmnbererVi breast. 
My heart beats as thick as a fugitire's tread. 
And cold dews drop from my brow and my head,— 
Ho I Gunnar, the flasket yon almoner gave ; 
He said that three drops would recall from the grave. 
For the first time Count Harold owns leedb-ciaft has 

power. 
Or, his courage to aid, lacks the juice of a flower P* 
The page gave the flasket, which Walwayn had fill*d 
With the juice of wild rooto that his art had distiU'd— 
So baneful their influence on all that had breath. 
One drop had been frenzy, and two had been death. 
Harold took it, but drank not ; for jubilee shrill. 
And music and clamour were heard on the hill. 
And down the steep pathway, o'er stock and o^er stone, 
The train of a bridal came blithesomely on ; 



17G HAROLD TUS DAUNTLBS8. CatUo V. 

There was song, there was pipe, there was timbrel, a&d 

8tiU 
The burden was, «< Joy to the &ir MeteliU !'' 

XII. 
Harold might see from his high stance. 
Himself unseen, that train advance 

With mirth and melody ; — 
On horse and foot a mingled throng. 
Measuring their steps to bridal song 

And bndal minstrelsy ; 
And ever when the blithesome rout 
Lent to the song their choral shout, 
Redoubling echoes rolPd about, 
While echoing cave and cliff sent out 

The answering symphony 
Of all those mimic notes which dwell 
In hollow took and sounding delL 

XIII. 
Joy shook his torch above the band. 
By many a various passion fanned ; — 
As elemental sparks can feed 
On essence pure and coarsest weed, 
G«ntle, or stormy, or refined, 
Joy takes the colours of the mind. 
Lightsome and pure, but unrepress'd. 
He firad the bridegroom's gallant breast ; 
More feebly strove with maiden fear, 
xet still joy glinuner'd through the teaf 
On the bride's blushing cheek, that shows 
l^e dewdwp on the budding rose ; 

The glee that selfish avarice shared. 



r 



CkmltO V. HAROLD THX DAUM1XB8S. 177 

And pleaaed rerenge and malice high 
Joy^ semblance took in Jutta^ eye. 
On dangerouB adventure sped. 
The witch deemed Harold with the dead, 
For thus that mom her Demon said : — 
** I^ ere the set of sun, be tied 
* The knot twixt bridegroom and his bride, 
The Dane shall have no power of ill 
0*er William and o'er MetelilL" 
And the pleased witch made answer, ^ Then 
Must Harold have passed from the paths of men ! 
EtU repose may his spirit hare, — 
Hay hemlock and mandrake find root in his gmve^— 
May his death-sleep be dogged by dreams of dismay. 
And his waking be worse at the answering day.** 

XIV. 
Such was their various mood of glee 
Blent in one shout of ecstasy. 
But still when Joy is brimming highest. 
Of Sorrow and Misfortune nighest, 
Of Terror with her ague cheek. 
And lurking Danger, sages speak : — 
These haunt each path, but chief they lay 
Their snares beside the primrose way.— . 
Thus found that bridal band their path 
Beset by Harold in his wrath. 
Trembling beneath his nwddening mood, 
High on a rock the giant stood ; 
His shout was like the doom of death 
Spoke o*er their heads that passed beneath. 
His destined victims might not spy 
The reddening terrors of his eye, — 



178 UAAOLD THS DAUNTLISS. CatttO V. 

The frown of lage that writhed his face, — 
The lip that foamed like boards in chase ;-~ 
But all could aee-^Aad, seeing, all 
Bore back to shun the threatened &11 — 
The fragment which their giant foe 
Bent from the cliff and heaved to throw. 

XV. 

Backward they bore v— y«t are there two 

For battle who prepare : 
No pause of dread Lord William knew 

Ere his good blade was bare ! 
And Wulfttane bent his &tal yew, 
And ere the silken cord he drew. 
As hurrd from Hecla's thunder, flew 

That ruin through the air ! 
Full on the outlaw^s front it came, 
And all that late had human name. 
And human &ce, and human frame, 
That lived, and moved, and had free will 
To choose the path of good or ill. 

Is to its reckoning gone ; 
And nought of Wul&tane rests behind, 

Save that beneath that stone. 
Half-buried in the dinted clay, 
A red and shapeless mass there lay 

Of mingled flesh and bone ! 

XVI. 

As from the bosom of tlie sky 

The eagle darts amain. 
Three bounds from yonder summit high 

Placed Harold on the plain. 
As the scared wild-fowl scream and fly, 



Coflto r. HAROLD THB DAUNTL18S. 179 

So fled the bridal train ; 
Ab 'gainst the eaglets peerleaa might 
The noble falcon dares the fight, 

But dares the fight in vain, 
So fought the bridegroom ; from his hand 
The Dane's rude mace has struck his brand. 
Its glittering fragments strew the sand, 

Its lord lies on the plain. 
Now, Heaven ! take noble William's part. 
And melt that yet unmelted heart. 
Or, ere his bridal hour depart. 

The hapless bridegroom's slain t 

XVII. 

Count Harold'ft frenzied rage is high. 
There is a death-fire in his eye. 
Deep furrows on his brow are trench'd. 
His teeth are set, his hand is clench'd. 
The foam upon his lip is white. 
His deadly arm is up to smite I 
But, as the maoe aloft he swung, 
To stop the blow young Gunnar sprung. 
Around his master's knees he clung, 

And cried, ** In mercy, spare ! 
O, think upon the words of fear 
Spoke by that visionary Seer, 
The crisis he foretold ia here^— 

Grant mercy, — or despair ! " 
This word suspended Harold's mood. 
Yet still with arm upraised he stood. 
And visage like the headsman's rude 

That pauses for the sign. 
*^ O mark thee with the blessed rood," 
The Page implored \ ^ Speak word of good, 



180 UABOLD THE DAUNTLX8S. CtUlio V. 

Reoflt the fiend, or be subdued ! ** 

He signed tiie cross divine— 
Instant his eye hath human light, 
Less red, less keen, less fiercely bright ; 
His brow relaxed the obdurate frown, 
The fatal mace sinks gently down. 

He turns and strides away ! 
Yet oft, like revellers who leave 
Unfinished feast, looks back to grieve. 
As if repenting the reprieve 

He granted to his prey. 
Yet still of forbearance one sign hath he given. 
And fierce Witikind^ son made one step towards 

heaven. 

XVIII. 
But though his dreaded footsteps part, 
Death is behind and shakes his dart ; 
Lord William on the plain is lying. 
Beside him Metelill seems dying !-^ 
Bring odours— essences in haste— 
And lo ! a flasket richly chased, — 
But Jutta the elixir proves 
Ere pouring it for those she loves- 
Then Walwayn*s potion was not wasted. 
For when three drops the hag had tasted. 

So dismal was her yell. 
Each bird of evil omen woke. 
The raven gave his fiital croak. 
And shrieked the night-crow from the oak. 
The screech-owl from the thicket broke. 

And fluttered down the dell ! 
So fearfiil was the sound and stem. 
The slumbers of the frdl-goxged erne 



Canto V, HAROLD THE 0AUNTLSS8. 181 

Were startled, and from fiuze and fern 

Of forest and of fell» 
The fox and famish'd wolf replied, 
(For woWes then prowPd the Cheviot side,) 
From mountain head to momitain head 
The unhallowed sounds around were sped : ^ 
But when their latest echo fled. 
The sorceress on the ground lay dead. 

XIX. 
Such wa« the scene of blood and woes. 
With which the bridal mom arose 

Of William and of MeteUU ; 
But oft, when dawning *gins to spread. 
The summer-mom peeps dimimd red 

Above the eastem hill. 
Ere, bright and £ur, upon his road 
The King of Splendour walks abroad ; 
So, when this cloud had passed away, 
Bright was the noontide of their day. 
And all serene its setting ray. 

1 CS«e a note on the Lord of the Iilee, oanto r. et. 31.1 



[ iw 1 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



OAin'O SIXTH. 



L 

WmLL do I hope that this mj miiistrel tale 
Will tempt no tmreller from southern fields, 
Whether in tilbury, barouche, or mail. 
To view the Castle of these Seren Proud Shields. 
Small confirmation its condition yields 
To Meneyille^ high lay,— No towers are seen 
On the wild heath, but those that Fancy builds, 
And, sare a fosse that tracks the moor with green. 
Is nought remains to tell of what may there have been. 

And yet gmre authors, with no small waste 
Of their gmre time, have dignified the spot 
By theories, to prore the fortress placed 
By Roman huida, to curb the iuTsding Scot. 
Hutchinson, Horsley, Camden, I might quote. 
But rather choose the theory less civil 
Of boors, who, origin of things foigot, 
Refer still to the origin of eril. 
And for their master-mason choose that master-fiend 
the Devil. 



184 HAROLD THS DAUKTL18S. CotUo VI. 

II. 

Therefore, I say, it was on fiend-built toweiB 
That stout Count Harold bent his wondering gaze. 
When erening dew was on the heather flowers, 
And the last sunbeams made the mountain blase. 
And tinged the battlements of other days 
With the bright level light ere sinking down.— 
Illumined thus, the dauntless Dane surveys 
The Seven Proud Shields that o'er the portal frown, 
And on their blazons traced high marks of old renown. 

A wolf North Wales had on his armour-coat. 
And Rhys of Powis-Iand a couchant stag ; 
Strath-(nwyd*8 strange emblem was a stranded boat, 
Donald of Galloway*s a trotting nag ; 
A corn-sheaf gilt was fertile Lodon's brag \ 
A dudgeon-dagger was by Dunmail worn ; 
Northumbrian Adolf gave a sea-beat crag 
Surmounted by a crossx- such signs were borne 
Upon these antique shields, all wasted now and worn. 

III. 
These scanned. Count Harold sought the castle-door. 
Whose ponderous bolts wero rusted to decay ; 
Yet till that hour adventurous knight forbore 
The unobstructed passage to essay. 
More strong than armed warders in array. 
And obstacle more sure than bolt or bar. 
Sate in the portal Terror and Dismay, 
While Superstition, who forbade to war 
With foes of other mould than mortal clay. 
Cast spells across the gate, and barred the onward way. 

Vain now those spells ; for soon with heavy clank 
The feebly-fasten'd gate was inward pushed. 



Canto VI, HAROLD thy dauntless. 185 

And, as it oped, tkrough that emblazoned rank 
Of antique shields, the wind of evening rushM 
With sound most Uke a groan, and then was hush'd. 
Is none who on such spot such sounds could hear 
But to his heart the blood had faster rushed ; 
Yet to bold Harold*s breast that throb was dear — 
It spoke of danger nigh, but had no touch of fear. 

IV. 

Yet Harold and his Page no signs have traced 
Within the castle, that of danger showed *, 
For still the halls and courts were wild and waste, 
As through their precincts the adventurers trode. 
The seven huge towers rose stately, tall, and broad. 
Each tower i»esenting to their scrutiny 
A hall in which a king might make abode, 
And &st beside, gamishM both proud and high. 
Was placed a bower for rest in which a king might lie. 

As if a bridal there of late had been. 
Decked stood the table in each gorgeous hall ; 
And yet it was two hundred years, I ween. 
Since date of that unhallowed festivaL 
Flagons, and ewers, and standing cups, were all 
Of tarnished gold, or silver nothing clear. 
With throne begilt, and canopy of pall. 

And tapestry clothed the walls with fragments sear 

Frail as the spider ^s mesh did that rich woof appear. 

V. 
In every bower, as round a heane^ was hung 
A dusky crimson curtain o*er the bed. 
And on each couch in ghastly wise were flung 



186 HAROLD THE DAUNTLB88. Ccmto VI, 

The wasted relics of a monazdi dead ; 
Barbaric onuunents around were spread. 
Vests twined with gold, and chains of precious stone, 
And golden circlets, meet for monarchs head ; 
While grinn'd, as if in scorn amongst them thrown. 
The wearer's flediless skull, alike with dust bestrown. 

For these were they who, drunken with delight, 
On pleasured opiate pillow laid their head. 
For whom the brideVi shj footstep, slow and light, 
Was changed ere morning to the murderer's tread. 
For human bliss and woe in the fisil thread - 
Of human life are all so closely twined, 
That till the shears of Fate the texture shred. 
The dose succession cannot be disjoined, 
Kor dare we, from one hour, judge that which comes 
behind. 

VI. 

But where the work of yengeance had been done, 
In that seventh chamber, was a sterner sight ; 
There of the witch-brides lay each skeleton, 
Still in the posture as to death when dight. 
For this lay prone, by one blow slain outright ; 
And that, as one who struggled long in dying ; 
One bony hand held knife, as if to smite ; 
One bent on fleshless knees, as mercy crying ; 
One lay across the door, as kill*d in act of flying. 

The stem Dane smiled this charnel-house to see^— 
For lus chafed thought returned to Metelill v— 
And ^ Well,** he said, '* hath woman^ perfidy. 
Empty as air, as water volatile, 



Ckwto VI, HAROLD TRB DAUNTLUS. 187 

Been here a,YeDgo6L~^Th.e origiii of ill 
Through woman rote, the Chiutian doctrine eaith ; 
Nor deem I Gimnar, that thy miniBtrel skill ^ 
Can show example where a woman^ breath 
Hath made a true-love tow, and, tempted, kept her 
faith." 

VII. 
The minstrelrboy half smiled, half tigh'd. 
And his half-fillhig eyes he dried. 
And said, ** The theme I should but wrong, 
Unless it were my dying song, 
(Our Scalds hare said, in dying hour 
The Northern harp has treble power,) 
Else could I tell of womanVi fidth. 
Defying danger, scorn, and death. 
Firm was that fiuihy--as diamond stone 
Pure and unflaw*d, — ^her love unknown, 
And unrequited ;— firm and pure. 
Her stainless fidth could all endure ; 
From dime to dime,^ — from place to places- 
Through want, and danger, and disgrace, 
A wanderer*s wajrward steps could trace.— 
All this she did, and guerdon none 
fiequired, saye that her buiial-stone 
Should make at length the secret known, 
' Thus hath a fiuthfiil woman done.*— 
Not in each breast such truth is laid, 
But Eivir was a Danish maid.** 

VIII. 

<« Thou art a wild enthusiast,** said 
Count Harold, •• for thy Danish maid ; 



1B8 HAROLD THH DAUNTLESS. CaiUo VI, 

And yet, young Gunnar, I will own 
Hera were a faith to rest upon. 
But Eivir sleeps beneath her stone, 
And all resembling her are gone. 
What maid e^er showed such constancy 
In plighted faith, like thine to me ? 
But couch thee, boy ; the darksome shade 
Falls thickly round, nor be dismayM 

Because the dead are by. 
They were as we ; our little day 
Overspent, and we shall be as they. 
Yet near me, Gunnar, be thou laid,' 
Thy couch upon my mantle made. 
That thou mayst think, should fear invade. 

Thy master slimibers nigh.** 
Thus couchM they in that dread abode. 
Until the beams of dawning glowed. 

IX. 

An alter'd man Lord Harold rose, 
When he beheld that dawn unclose — 

There's trouble in his eyes, 
And traces on his brow and cheek 
Of mingled awe and wonder speak : 

" My page,** he said, " arise ; — 
Leave we this place, my page.**— No more 
He utter*d till the castle door 
They crossed — ^but there he paused and said, 
" My wildness hath awaked the dead — 

Disturbed the sacred tomb ! 
Methought this night I stood on high. 
Where Hecla roars in middle sky. 
And in her cavem*d gulfs could spy 

The central place of doom ; 



CkmiO VL HA11OL0 THB OAUNTLX88. 189 

And there before my mortal eye 
Souls of the dead came flittiiig by, 
Whom fiends, with many a fiendish cry. 

Bore to that evil den I 
My eyes grew dizzy, and my brain 
Was wilderM as the elvish train. 
With shriek and howl, dragged on amain 

Those who had late been men. 

X. 

^ With haggard eyes and streaming hair, 
Jutta the Sorceress was there. 
And there passed Wul&tane, lately slain. 
All crushed and foul with bloody stain.— 
More had I seen, but that uprose 
A whirlwind vnld, and swept the snows ; 
And with such sound as when at need 
A champion spurs his horse to speed. 
Three aimed knights rush on, who lead 
Caparisoned a sable steed. 
Sable their harness, and there came 
Through their closed visors sparks of fiame. 
The first proclaimed, in sounds of fear, 
' Harold the Dauntless, welcome here !* 
The next cried, * Jubilee I we*ve won 
Count Witildnd the WasterVi son P 
And the third rider sternly spoke, 
' Mount, in the name of Zemebock !— 
From us, O Harold, were thy powers, — 
Thy strength, thy dauntlessness are ours ; 
Kgr think, a vassal thou of hell 
With hell can strive.* The fiend spoke true ! 
My inmost soul the summons knew. 
As captives know the knell 



190 HAROLD THB DAUNTLESS. Catito VI, 

That toys the headsman^s sword is bare, 
And, with an accent of despair. 

Commands them quit their cell. 
I felt resistance was in vain, 
My foot had that fell stiirup ta*en, 
Mj hand was on the &tal mane, 

When to my rescue sped 
That Palmer^s visionary form. 
And— like the passing of a storm— 

The demons yelled and fled ! 

XI. 
^ His sable cowl, flung back, revealed 
The features it before concealed ; 

And, Gunnar, I could find 
In him whose counsels strove to stay 
So oft my course on wilful way. 

My father Witikind ! 
DoomVl for his sins, and doomed for mine, 
A wanderer upon earth to pine 
Until his son shall turn to grace. 
And smooth for him a resting-place. — 
GKmnar, he must not haunt in vain 
This world of wretchedness and pain : 
111 tame my wilful heart to live 
In peace — ^to pity and forgive— 
And thou, for so the Vision said. 
Must in thy Lord^s repentance aid. 
Thy mother was a prophetess. 
He said, who by her skill could guess 
How close the fatal textures join 
Which knit thy thread of life with mine ; 
Then, dark, he hinted of disguise 
She framed to cheat too curious eyes. 



OatUo VL HAROLD TBX DAUNTLXS8. 191 

That not a moment might divida 
Thy fitted footsteps from my side. 
Methought while thus my aiie did teach, 
I caught the meaning of his speech, 
Yet seems its purport doubtful now/* 
His hand then sought his thoughtful brow. 
Then first he mark'd, that in the tower 
His glove was left at waking hour. 

XII. 

Trembling at first, and deadly pale. 
Had Gunnar heard the vision^d tale ; 
But when he learned the dubious close, 
He blushed like any opening rose. 
And, glad to hide his tell-tale cheek. 
Hied back that glove of mail to seek ; 
When soon a shriek of deadly dread 
Summoned his master to his idd. 

XIII. 
What sees Count Harold in that bower. 

So late his resting-place ? — 
The semblance of the Evil Power, 

Adored by all his race ! 
Odin in living form stood there. 
His cloak the spoils of Polar bear ; 
For plumy crest a meteor shed 
Its gloomy radiance o*er his head, 
Yet veiled its haggard majesty 
To the wild lightnings of his eye. 
Such height was his, as when in stene 
0*er Upsal^s giant altar shown : 

So flowed his hoary beard ; 



192 HAROLD THE DAUNTLB68. Cbllto F7. 

Such was his lance of mountain-pine. 
So did hlB sevenfold buckler shine v— 

But when his voice he reared. 
Deep, without harshness, slow and strong, 
The poweiful accents rolled along, 
And, while he spoke, his hand was laid 
On captive Gunnar*s shrinking head. 

XIV. 

*^ Harold,** he said, *^ what rage is thine, 
To quit the worship of thy line, 

To leave thy Warrior^God ?— 
With me is glory or diiigrace, 
Mine is the onset and the chase, 
Embattled hosts before my fiu^e 

Are withered by a nod. 
Wilt thou then forfeit that high seat 
Deserved by many a dauntless feat. 
Among the heroes of thy line, 
Eric and fiery Thorarine ? — 
Thou wilt not. Only I can give 
The jojrs for which the valiant live. 
Victory and vengeance — only I 
Can give the jojrs for which they die. 
The immortal tilt— the banquet full, 
The brimming draught fiiom foeman^i skull. 
Mine art thou, witness this thy glove. 
The faithful pledge of vassal*s love.**^^ 

XV. 
" Tempter," said Harold, firm of heart, 
" I charge thee, hence f whatever thou art, 
I do defy thee — and resist 
The kindling frenzy of my breast, 



Canto VI. HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 193 

Waked by thy words ; and of my mail, 

Nor glove, nor buckler, splent, nor nail, 

Shall rest with thee — ^that youth release. 

And God, or Demon, part in peace." — 

" Eivir," the Shape replied, " is mine. 

Marked in the birth-hour with my sign. 

Think'st thou that priest with drops of spray 

Could wash that blood-red mark away ? 

Or that a borrowed sex and name 

Can abrogate a Godhead^s claim ?" 

Thriird this strange speech through Harold's brain. 

He clenched his teeth in high disdain. 

For not his new-bom faith subdued 

Some tokens of his ancient mood. — 

" Now, by the hope so lately given 

Of better trust and purer heaven, 

I will assail thee, tiend ! " — ^Then rose 

His mace, and with a storm of blows 

The mortal and the Demon close. 

XVI. 

Smoke rollM above, fire flashed around. 
Darkened the sky and shook the ground ; 

But not the artillery of hell. 
The bickering lightning, nor the rock 
Of turrets to the earthquake's shock, 

Could Harold's courage quelL 
Sternly the Dane his^ purpose kept. 
And blows on blows resistless heap'd. 

Till quail'd that Demon Form, 
And — for his power to hurt or kill 
Was bounded by a higher will— . 

Evanish'd in the storm. 

N 






3iit niaeda flsd Imhc Ids E2vir farth, 

Franlliiftvfld 

To i%|it, to Ubcf^, and life ! 

xvn. 

He plsfoed her on a bank of i 

A nlver nmnel bobUed bj. 
And new-born thoag^ts hia mil 
And tremon yet unknown acroa 

His ttabbom nnews fly. 
The while with timid band ibe dew 
Upon her brow and neck he threw. 
And marked how life with rosy hae 
On her pale cheek revived anew. 

And glimmerM in her eye. 
Inly he said, ^ That silken tresB^— 
What blindness mine that could not guess ! 
Or how could pagers rugged dress 

That bosom's pride belie ? 
O, dull of heart, through wild and wave 
In search of blood and death to rave. 

With such a partner nigh ! '*^ 

XVIII. 
Then in the mirrorM pool he peered. 
Blamed his rough locks and shaggy beard. 



> [ Mr. Adoll^httti In hit Letten on the Anthor of WaTerley, p. 
MO, r«m«rki on tho colncidonce between *' the cataatrophe of 
' The HlMck Dwarf,* the reooftnitlon of Mortham'a loet son in the 
\f\t^\ or|)han of * Hokeby,* and the oonTenion of Haiold'a page into 
a (Wmale»'*-HiUl which he oalla ** epcdmena of i 
MiMt al a great expenee of probahilitr.**] 



Canto VL harold thb dauntlbss. 105 

The fttains of recent conflict dear^d^— 

And thus the Champion proved, 
That he fears now who never fear*d. 

And loves who never loved. 
And Eivir — life is on her cheek. 
And yet she will not move or speak. 

Nor will her eyelid fully ope *, 
Perchance it loves, that half-shut eye, 
Through its long fiinge, reserved and shy. 
Affection^ opening dawn to spy ; 
And the deep blush, which bids its dye 
O^er cheek, and brow, and bosom fly. 

Speaks shame-facedness and hope. 

XIX. 
But vainly seems the Dane to seek 
For terms his new-bom love to speak, — 
For words, save those of wiath and wrong, 
Tin now were strangers to his tongue ; 
So, when he raised the blushing maid. 
In blunt and honest tenns he said, 
(Twere well that maids, when lovers woo. 
Heard none more soft, were all as true,) 
^ Eivir ! since thou for many a day 
Hast followed Harold*s wayward way. 
It is but meet that in the Une 
Of afteMife I follow thine. 
To-morrow is Saint Cuthbert^ tide. 
And we will grace his altarVi side, 
A Christian knight and Christian bride 
And of Witikind'to son shall the marvel be said. 
That on the same mom he was christened and wed.** 



[ 197 ] 



CONCLUSION. 



And now, Ennui, what ails thee, weary maid ? 
And why these listless looks of yawning sorrow ? 
No need to turn the page, as if *twere lead. 
Or fling aside the volume till to-morrow. — 
Be cheered — 'tis ended — and I will not borrow. 
To try thy patience more, one anecdote 
From Bartholine, or Perinskiold, or Snono. 
Then pardon thou thy minstrel, who hath wrote 
A Tale six cantos long, yet scom'd to add a note.^ 

1 C" ' Harold the Danntlesa^' like * The Bridal of Triennain, 
it a tolerably saccenfol imitation of some parts of the style of Mr. 
Walter Scott ; but, like all imitations, it is clearly dlstingnishable 
from the prototype ; it wants the Ufe and seasoning of originality. 
To illustrate this familiarity from the stage:— We hare all wit- 
nessed a hundred imitations of popular actors— of Kemble, for in- 
stance, in which the Toice, the gesture,*and somewhat OTen of the 
look, were copied. In extemala the resemblance might bo suffi- 
dently correct ; but where was the informing soul, the mind that 
dictated the action and expression ? Who could endure the tedium 
of seeing the imitator go through a whole character ? In ' Harold 
the Dauntless,' the imitation of Mr. Scott is pretty obyious, but we 
are weary of it before we arrive near the end. The author has 
talent, and considerable facility in Torsification, and on this account 
it is somewhat lamentable, not only that he should not hare se- 
lected a better model, but that he should copy the parts of that 
model which are least worthy of study. Perhaps it was not easy 



198 HAKOLD THB DAUNTLB68. 

to equal the eneigy of If r. Seott'i line, or his pictnresque detcrip- 
tfons. His pecnliaritlee and defects were more attainable, and with 
these the writer of this novel in Terse has generally contented him* 
self; he will also content a certain nnmher of readers, who merely 
look for a few amusing or surprising incidents. In these, however, 
' Harold the Dauntless' does not abound so much as ' The Bridal 
of Tiiermain.' They are indeed romantic enough to satisfy all the 
parlonr^boarders of ladies' schools in England ; but they want that 
appearance of probability which should give them interest.' ^Cri- 
Ucal BeviMO, April, 1817. 



" We had formerly occasion to notice, with considerable praise. 
The Bridal of Tiiermain. We remarked it as a pretty close imi- 
tation of Mr. Scott's poetry ; and as that great master seems, for 
the present, to have left his lyre unstrung, a substitute, even of 
inferior value, may be welcomed by the public. It appears to us, 
however, and still does, that the merit of the present author con- 
sists rather in the soft and wildly tender passages, than in those 
rougher scenes of fend and fiay, through which the poet of early 
times conducts his reader. His war-horse follows with somewhat 
of a hobbling pace, the proud and impetuous courser whom he seeks 
to rival. Unfortunately, as it appears to us, the last style of 
poetical excellence is rather more aimed at here than in the former 
poem ; and as we do not discover any improvement in the mode of 
treating It, Harold the Dauntless scarcely appears to us to equal 
the Bridal of Triermain. It contains, indeed, passages of similar 
merit, but not quite so numerous ; and such, we suspect, wUl ever 
be the case while the author continues to follow after this line of 
poetry."— Scofo Mag.» Feb. I8I7. 



'* This is an elegant, sprightly, and delightful little poem, writ- 
ten apparently by a person of taste and genius, but who either 
possesses not the art of forming and combining a plot, or regards 
it only as a secondary and subordinate object. In this we do not 
widely differ from him, but are sensible, meantime, that many 
others will ; and that the rambling and uncertain nature of the 
story will be the principal objection urged against the poem before 
us^ as well as the greatest bar to its extensive popularity. The 
character of Mr. S(»tt*s romances has effected a material change 
in our mode of estimating poetical compositions. In all the esti- 
mable works of our former poets, from Spenser down to Thomson 
and Cowper, tiie plot seems to have been regarded as good or bad, 
only in proportion to the advantages which it furnished for poeti- 
cal description ; but, of late yeani, one half, at least, of the merit 



HAROLD THB DAUNTLESS. 199 

of a potin is mppoied to rett on the interest and management of 
the tale. 

" We epeak not exduiiTely of that nnmenrai clase of readen 
who penue and eetimate a new poem, or any poem, with the Hune 
iieelingi, and precieelj on the tame principles, as they do a noreL 
It is natural for snch perwns to judge only by the effect produced 
by the incidents ; but we hare often been surprised that some of 
our literary critics, even those to whose judgment we were most 
diqwsed to bow, should lay so much stress on the probability and 
fitness of erery incident which the fancy of the poet may lead him 
to embellish in the course of a narrative poem, a great proportion 
of which must necessarily be dMcriptire. The author of Harold 
the Dauntless seems to hare judged differently from these critics ; 
and in the lightsome rapid strain of poetry which he has chosen, 
we feel no disposition to quarrel with him on account of the easy 
and careless manner tn which he has arranged his story. In many 
instances he undoubtedly shows the hand of a master, and has 
truly studied and seized the essential character of the antique— Us 
attitudes and draperies are unconfined, and raried with demi-tints, 
possessing much of the lustre, freshness, and spirit of Rembrandt. 
The airs of his heads have grace, and his distances something of 
the lightness and keeping of Salrator Rosa. The want of harmony 
and union in the carnations of hi» females is a slight objection, 
and there is likewise a meagre theeUneu in his contrasts of ehiar- 
oicuro t but these are all redeemed by the felicity, execution, and 
master traits, distinguishable in his grouping, as in a MuriUo or 
CarraTeggio. 

But the work has another quality, and though its leading one, 
we do not know whether to censure or approve it. It is an avowed 
imitation, and therefore loses part of its value, if viewed as an ori- 
ginal production. On the other hand, regarded solely as an imi- 
tation, it is one of the closest and most successful, without being 
either a caricature or a parody, that perhaps ever appeared in any 
language. Not only is the general manner of Scott ably main- 
tained throughout, but the very structure of the language, the as- 
sociations, and the train of thinking, appear to be prMisely tihe 
same. It was once alleged by some writers, that it was impossible 
to imitate Mr. Scott's style, but it is now fully proved to the world, 
that there is no style more accessible to imitation ; for it will be 
remarked, (laying parodies aride, which any one may execute,) 
that Mr. Davidson and Miss Halford, as well as Lord Byron and 
Wordsworth, each in one instance, have all, without, we believe, 
intending it, imitated him witti considerable closeness. The au- 
thor of the Poetic Ifirxor has g^ven us one specimen of his most 



200 HAROLD TBB DAUNTLESS. 

poUabed and tender style, and another, still more dose, of his xapid 
and careless manner ; hut aU qfthem faU greaO^ short qf The A-t- 
dtUi^TriermaiH, and Ae poem now btfore us. We are snre the 
anthor will lang^ heartily in his sleeve at onr sillineas and want 
of perception, when we confess to him, that we never conld open 
aitber of these works, and peruse his pages for two minutes with 
attention, and at the same time direst our minds of the idea, that 
we were engaged in an early or experimental work of that great 
master. That they are generally inferior to the works of Mr. 
Soott, in vigour and interest, admits not of dispute ; still they have 
many of his wild and softer beauties ; and if they fidl to he read 
and admired, we shall not on that account think the better of the 
taste of the ag9.*'-'Blaaaooo<Fs Magazine, April, 181?.] 



BND OF HAROLD TUB DAVHTLES8. 



THK 



FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



A POEM. 



" Though Valoifl brayed young Edward'* gentle hand. 
And Albert rueh'd on Henry's way-irom band. 
With Knrope b chosen sons, in arms renown'd, 
Yot not on Ycre'i bold archers long they look'd. 
Nor Andley's squires nor Mowbray's yeomen brook'd, — 
They saw thdr standard fiaU, and left their monarch bound." 

Arenudb. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



// tnajf be iome apology for the impetfeetiom of (ku 
poem^ that it wu compomd hastily^ and dmrinff a Aort tour 
upon the Comtmtnt^ when the Author^ labomn were liable 
iofrequeid tnterrupOou ; but ite best apology tt, Aat it fcae 
teritten for the putpote qftutitting the Waterloo SuUcr^ 
tion, 

Abbottford, 1815. 



ID 

HER QRaCE 

THB 

DUCHESS OF WELLINGTON, 

PRINCESS OF WATERLOO, 
&c. &c. &c. 

THE FOLLOWING VERSES 

ARB MOST RVSPICTPULLT INSCRIBXD 

BT 

THE AUTHOR. 



[ 206 ] 



TRB 



FIELD OP WATERLOO. 



I. 

Fair Brussels, thou art far behind, 
Though, lingering on the morning wind. 

We yet may hear the hour 
PeaPd over orchard and canal. 
With voice prolonged and measured fall. 

From proud St. Michaers tower ; 
Thy wood, dark Soignies, holds us now,^ 
Where the tall beeches* glossy bough 

For many a league around. 
With birch, and darksome oak between. 
Spreads deep and far a pathless screen. 

Of tangled forest groimd. 



1 [" The wood of Soignies is supposed to be a remnant of the 
Ibrest of Ardennes, fiamous in Boiardo's Orlando, and immortalriu 
Sbakspeare's ' As yon Like it.* It is also celebrated in Tadtos as 
being the spot of successfal defence by the Oernuuu against the 
Boman encroachments."— Bynoir.] 



21« 



VL 

A J, look i«na-Ai* line M 

And tmnpled mada «be bfTOiia^ 

Ton deep-snrod rate Ibe aitiDcfy^ tadc, 

80 oAeB kMk and won ; 
And cloie baide,«be bnden'd mod 
8tin ihawB wfaeie, fieUock-doep in Uood, 
The 6eice diagoon, tliraa^ badlle^ flood, 

DaihM the hoi w-hone on. 
Theie tp&U ot ezcaTStion teQ 
TheisTageofthebazBkuigiheD — 
And feePft thou not the tainted steam. 
That reeb agaimt the raltiy beam. 

From yonder tienched mound? 
The pettilenfial iimieo declare 
That Canage haa leplenidi^d there 

Her gaiDer-houae profoond. 

vn. 

Far other harrest-home and feast. 

Than claims the boor firom scythe released. 

On these scorched fields were known ! 
Death hover'd o*er the maddening rout. 
And, in the thrilling battle-shout. 
Sent for the bloody banquet out 

A summons of his own. 
Through rolling smoke the Demon's eye 

The psBsiog MAions had not yet dEaced 
The vtamp of nmnereui hooft impress'd by foree 

Of caralry, whoie path might still be traced. 
Yet Nature ererywhere retained her ooiuw ; 

Low panties to the sun their purple gare. 

And the soft poppy blofsom'd on the grave/' 

SOUTRST.I 



THB PZBLD OF WATERLOO. 211 

Could well each defltined guest espy, 
Well could his ear in ecstasy 

Distinguish every tone 
That fill'd the chorus of the ftay~ 
From cannon-roar and trumpet-bray. 
From charging squadrons* wild hurra, 
From the wild clang that mark'd their wayy— 

Down to the dying groan, 
Aikd the last sob of life's depay, 

When breath was all but flown. 

VIII. 
Feast on, stem foe of mortal life, 
Feast on I — ^but think not that a strife, 
With such promiscuous carnage rife, 

Protracted space may last ; 
The deadly tug of war at length 
Muft limits find in human strength, 

And cease when these are past. 
Vain hope I — ^that mom's overclouded sun 
Heard the wild shout of fight begun 

Ere he attained his height. 
And through the war-smoke, yolumed high, 
Still peals that unremitted ciy, 

Though now he stoops to night. 
For ten long hours of doubt and dread. 
Fresh succours from the extended head 
Of either hill the contest fed ; 

Still down the slope they drew. 
The charge of columns paused not, 
Nor ceased the storm of shell and shot ; 

For all that war could do 
Of skill and force was proved that day. 
And tum'd not yet the doubtful fray 

On bloody Waterloo. 



212 



PaleHmfli! thai what ihoa^xlB wen Huae,^ 
When eeMdoi Iran the diilaiit line 

Continued tfaimden came! 
Eeeh bmj^ier b^ his faieeth, to hear 
Hiew tantuBDen* of havoc near* 

Of npine and of flame. 
What guiOj flglita were thine to meet. 
When lolling* through th j statelj itieet. 
The woonded dioir'd their ma^^ i^^t^ 
In token of the nnfinidi^d fig^t, 
And from each angniib-laden wain 
The Uood-diopa laid thj dust like rain ! ^ 



'I t imi afirsMd hj O* vtlaoata oi war, that BonafaztA had 
p m iii wA Us Mnuy, in earn at yJeUnrj, twtnij4om taonrt' ptonder 
•rthacftyofBnnntai 

' C1C&— " HasMnfen.'^ 

a ~ 



CMtH-^ Bioodj pUflltt.-] 

' C" WitUii tlioM walls tlieie Ungo'd at that honi; 
Many a biare toldfer on fba bed of pain, 
Wbom aid of Inunan art ahonld ne'er natora 

To see bia oomitsy and Ida friends again ; 
And many a victim of that fell debate. 
Whose lift jti warer'd in the acales of ikte. 

" Otheis in waflpma borne abroad I saw. 

Albeit reoorertng, atill a monmfn] si^t ; 
L^gnid and helpless, some were sbretch'd on straw. 
Some mme advanc^ anstain'd themselTes vpright, 
^S? ^ ^•">* cawlesafamt, meOura^t, 
Seem'd to set wonnda and death agi£i at noi^btt. 

Was liBstmfinit «nd along the crowded rra.ru. 

Honr after hour waa heard the incessimt^nnj 
Of wheels, which o'er the itm^iSdt^T i^* 
ConTey-d their liflng agontoTloli^l ^ 



TUB riSLD OP WATBRLOO. 218 

How often in the disUuit drum 
Heard^st thou the fell Invader come, 
While Buin, shouting to his band. 
Shook high her torch and gory brand ! — 
Cheer thee, fair City ! From yon stand. 
Impatient, still his outstretch*d hand 

Points to his prey in vain. 
While maddening in his eager mood. 
And all unwont to be withstood. 

He fires the fight again. 

X. 

««OnI On!*' was still his stem exclaim; 
**" Confront the battery's jaws of flame ! 

Bush on the leveird gun ! 
My steel-clad cuirassiers, advance ! 
Each Hulan forward with his lance, 
My Guard—my Chosen— charge for France, 

France and Napoleon ! *'^ 
Loud answered their acclaiming shout, 
Greeting the mandate which sent out 
Their bravest and their best to dare 
The fiite their leader shunn*d to share.* 
But Ha, his country's sword and shield. 
Still in the battle-front reveal'd. 
Where danger fiercest swept the field, 

" Hearts little to the melting mood inclined, 

Orew eick toiee their fuiSeiingt ; and the thought 
Still comea with horror to the ahnddering mind 

Of thoee sad dayi, trhen Belgian ean were taught 
The British toldler's cry, half groan, half prayer, 
Breath'd when his pain is more than he can bear." 

SouTBar.j 
> See Appendix, Note A. 
• See Appendiac, Note B. 



214 «■> vntp or vatsbumu 



BoUBea, itaad finn,** ezdaim'd tbe Chie^ 
« B^phad lUl tdl the fi^ ! **i 



On cmie the wlmlvind— like the iMt 
But fieroert fweep of tempeifc-UasL^ 
On came the wfahlirmd — iteel-is^eains hnke 
like hffiltaing tbimi^ the Tolling anoke ; 

Tbe wax was waked anew, 
Thxee hnndied cannoo-moaUiB xoer^d loud. 
And fiom their thioata, with flash and doad, 

^nieir duiwen of iron threw. 
Beneath their fire, in lull career, 
Radi*d on the pondenras cniraBsier, 
The lancer ocmch^d his ruthless spear. 
And hurxTing as to haroc near. 

The cohorts* eagles fiew. 
In one dads tonent, bnad and strong. 
The adTUcing onset rolled along, 
Forth harbmger^d hj fierce aodaim. 
That, from the shrond of smoke and flame, 
Peal'd wildly the imperial name. 

xn. 

But on the British heart were lost 
The terrors of the charging host ; 
For not an eye the storm that viewed 
Changed its proud glance of fortitude, 

1 In lidlng tip to a regiment wUch was hard preeeed, the Duke 
called to the men, " Soldiera, we niwt never be beat,— what will 
thej lay in Bnglaad?^ It ii ncedleea to aay how thia appeal waa 
snawerod. 



THS FIELD OP WATBBLOO. 215 

Nor was one forward footstep staid. 

As dropped the dying and the dead.^ 

Fast as their ranks the thunders tear. 

Fast they renew*d each senried square ; 

And on the wounded and the shiin 

Closed their diminished files again. 

Till from their line scarce spears* lengths three, 

Emeiging from the smoke they see 

Helmet, and plume, and panoply «— 

Then waked their fire at once ! 
Each musketeer^s revolving knell. 
As fast, as regularly fell. 
As when they practise to display 
Their discipline on festal day. 

Then down went helm and lance, 
Down were the eagle banners sent, 
Down reeling steeds and riders went. 
Corslets were pierced, and pennons rent; 

And, to augment the fray, 
WheePd full against their staggering flanks. 
The EngliA horsemen^s foaming ranks 

Forced their resistless way. 
Then to the musket-knell succeeds 
The clash of swords — ^the ndgh of steeds— 
As plies the smith his clanging trade,' 
Against the cuirass rang the blade ;' 

1 [MS.—" Nor -was one forward footstep stopp'd. 
Though close beside a comrade dropp'd."'} 
s A prirate soldier of the 95th regiment compared the sound 
which took place immediately upon the British caralry mingling 
with those of the enemy, to " a thousand iinkers at toorfs mendififf 
poU and ketOa." 

B [" I heard the broadsword^ deadly clang, 
As if an hundred auTils rang t"] 



216 THX nSLD OF WATZRLOO. 

And while amid theii doae amj 
Hie weU-ienred cannon rent theii way,^ 
And while amid their scattered hand 
Baged the fierce nder'k Uood j hiand« 
Recoiled in common rout and fear. 
Lancer and guard and cuirassier. 
Horsemen and foot, — a mingled hoet. 
Their leaders fiJlYi, their standards lost. 

XIII. 
Then, Wrllington ! thy piercing eye 
TboB crisis caught of destiny — 

The British host had stood 
That mom 'gainst charge of sword and lance* 
As their own ocean*rocks hold stance. 
But when thy voice had said, ^ Advance ! " 

They were their ocean's flood. — 

1 [MS.—" Beneath that storm in full career, 
Bnsh'd on the ponderous cuirassier ; 

8wom{^^].to do or die; 

Bat not an instant would fhey bear 

The I *^!^"*®"lof each serried square, 
lyollies ) 

They halt, they turn, they fly ! 

Not even their chosen brook to feel 

The British shock of lerell'd steel ; 

Enough that through their close array 

The well-plied cannon tore their way ; 

Enough that mid their broken band 

The horsemen plied the bloody brand, 

EecoU'd," &c] 

s [•« The cuirassiers," says Sir Walter Scott, " continued their 
dreadful onset, and rode up to the squares in the full confidence, 
aiiparently, of sweeping every thing before the impetuosity of their 
charge. Their onset and reception was l^e a furious ocean pour- 



THK PIBLD OF WATBRLOO. 217 

O Thou, whose inampiciouB aim 

Hath wrought thy host this hour of shame. 

Think'ftt thou thy broken bands will bide 

The terrors of yon rushing tide ? 

Or will thy chosen brook to feel 

The British shock of levelled 8teel,> 

Or dost thou turn thine eye 
Where coming squadrons gleam afkr. 
And fresher thunders wake the war. 

And other standards fly ? — 
Think not that in yon columns, file 
Thy conquering troops from Distant Dyle— 

Is Blucher yet unknown ? 
Or dwells not in thy memory still, 
(Heard frequent in thine hour of ill,) 
What notes of hate and vengeance thrill 

In Prussians trumpet tone ? — * 
What yet remains ? — shall it be thine 
To head the relics of thy line 

In one dread efibrt more ? — 
The Roman lore thy leisure loved, 
And thou canst tell what fortune proved 

That Chieftain, who, of yore. 
Ambition's diszy paths essayed. 
And with the gladiator's aid 

For empire enterprised — 

ing itielf against a chain of insulated rocks. The British squares 
stood unmoyed, and never gave fire until the caralry were within 
ten yards, when men rolled one way, horses galloped another, and 
the cuirassieTS were in erery instance dziTen hack."— Life qfBona- 
parte."} 

^ See Appendix, Note C. 
s [lis.—'* Or can thy memory fiUl to quote. 
Heard to thy cost, the Tengeful note 
0/ Pmsria's tmmpei tone."] 



218 TBI nXLD OF WATKBLOO. 

He stood the cast his rashness played. 
Left not the Tictims he had made, 
Dug his red graye with his own blade, 
And on the field he lost was hud. 
Abhorred— but not despised.^ 

XIV. 
But if reyolTes thy fiunter thought 
On safety — howsoever bought, 
Then turn thy feaifiil rein and ride, 
Though twice ten thousand men have died 

On this eventful day. 
To gild the military fiune 
Which thou, for life, in traffic tame 

Wilt barter thus away. 
Shall future ages tell this tale 
Of inconsistence fiunt and fiail ? 
And art thou He of Lodi*s bridge, 
Marengo^s field, and Wagram^ ridge ! 

Or is thy soul like mountain-tide. 
That, swelled by winter storm and shower, 
Bolls down in turbulence of power, 

A torrent fierce and wide ; 
Reft of these aids, a rill obscure. 
Shrinking unnoticed, mean and poor. 

Whose channel shows displayed 
The wrecks of its impetuous course, 
fiat not one symptom of the force 

By which these wrecks were made ! 

XV. 

Spur on thy way ! — since now thine ear 
Has brook*d thy veterans* wish to hear, 
1 [Sm Appondiz, Note D.} 



TMI FIBL0 OF WATSHLOO. 219 

Who, as thy ajght they eyed, 
Exdaim^d, — ^whUe team of aoguiah came. 
Wrong forth by pride, and rage, and shame,^ 

** O, that he had but died I *'^ 
But yet, to sum this hour of ill. 
Look, ere thou leayest the &tal hill. 

Back on yon broken rankfr— 
Upon whose wild confusion gleams 
The moon, as on the troubled streams 

When riven break their banks. 
And, to the ruinM peasant^s eye. 
Objects half seen roll swiftly by, 

Down the dread current hurrd— 
So mingle banner, wain, and gun. 
Where the tumultuous flight rolls on 
Of warriors, who, when morn begun,* 

Defied a banded worid. 

XVL 
List — frequent to the hunying rout. 
The stem pursuers* ▼engeftil shout 



1 LThe MS. adds, 

" That pang larriTed, tcAim not then 
To humble thee before the men. 
Late object* of thj icom and hate, 
Who shall thy once-imperial fate 
Make wordy theme of Tatn debate. 

And chaffer for thy crown ; 
Am nsaren wont, who rack the all 
Of Uie fool-hardy prodigal. 
Whan on the giddy dice's Ml 

His latest hope has flown. 
But yet, to sum,** dK.] 

' [MS.—" When in one tide of tenor mn, 

Ibe wanists that* vhflR mom began."] 



220 THB FOLD OP WATEMUOO, 



Tell8, that upon their broken leu 
BafCf the Pnuriaals bloody spear. 

So fell a ahriek was naae^ 
When Bereai]ia*B icy flood 
Reddened and thaw*d with flame and blood,' 
And, preoing on thy desperate way, 
Boised oft and long their wild hniia. 

The children of the Don. 
Thine ear no yell of honor deft 
So ominous, when, all bereft 
Of aid, the valiant Pohick left—* 
Ay, left by thee — found soldier'ft grave' 
In Leipdc's coipse-encamber*d wave. 
Fate, in those Tarions perils past, 
Beserved thee still some future cast ; 
On the dread die thou now hast thrown. 
Hangs not a single field alone. 
Nor one campaign— 4hy martial fSsune, 
Thy empire, dynasty, and name. 

Have felt the final stroke ; 
And now, o*er thy devoted head 
The last stem vial*s wrath is shed. 

The last dread seal is broke,^ 

1 tM8.— " 80 ominoni a diriek was none. 
Not eren when Bereehia's flood 
Was thaw*dby Btreams of tepid blood."! 
• [For an account of the death of Poniatowski at Leipiic see Sir 
Walter Soott'B Life of Bonaparte.] 

3 QMS.—" Not fach were heard, when all bereft 

Of aid, the raliant Polack left- 
Ay, left by thee— found gallant grave."] 

4 I " I, who with frith unshaken from the fint, 

Kven when the tyrant aeem'd to touch the akicf, 
Had look'd to lee the high-blown bubble burst, 

And for a fall conspicuous as his rise, 
Even In that faith had look'd not for defieat 
80 iwlft, M orarwhalining, so complete."— Spbthst.1 



TBB fIBLD or WATMBLOO, 721 

xvir. 

Siooe liTe thoa vilU- lefiue not now 
Before theae demagqgaet to bow. 
Late objects of thy tcom and hate. 
Who shall thy once imperial ftte 
Make wordy tiieme of vain debate.^ 
Or shall we My, thoa stoop'M le« low 
In seeking refnige from the foe, 
Against whose heart, in prosperoos life, 
liine hand hath OTor held the knife ? 

Such homage hath been paid 
By Bomaa and by Grecian Toice, 
And there were hononr in the choice. 

If it were freely made. 
Then safely come— in one so low,^ 
80 lost, — ^we cannot own a foe ; 
Though dear experience bid as end. 
In thee we ne*er can haH a friend — 
Come, howBoe*er— but do not hide 
Close in thy heart that germ of piide, 
EiewhOe, I7 gifted hard espied,! 

That <« yet unperial hope ;**< 



1 [MS. " tat do not Ud« 

Ooee move tliat ssend gtm oTprfdo, 
VrU^ onft JOB gifted bvd MpML*^ 

' C" Tho Oeeolslor doeolate I 

The Vielor orertlinnnil 
The Arbiter of ofhenr fiito 

A SDpplisBt for Ui own I 
UitmaMjHimpenalkiipe, 
Thct with sodi diaagi esa eshnlj cope? 

Or dzMd of death aloDof 
To die a p iiii co o r Ifro a ikvo— 
Thy choice is noet ignoblj braror 

Sybow's Odi io JVkqwfaM.) 



322 TBS voLD cm watsbloo. 



Unnk not that for a 6aih leboimd. 
To niw amlntioii fttMn flio gnmid. 

We yield thee meaof or scope. 
In afety come — but ne^ agMB 
Hold ^^pe of independent rajgn ; 

No islet calls thee lord. 
We leave thee no ooofedente hand. 
No symlMd of thy lost command. 
To be a dagger in the hand 

From wUdi we wicndi*d the kworL 

xvra. 

Tet, OTon in yon seqoester'd qwt. 
May worthier conqnest be thy lot 

Than yet thy life has known ; 
Conquest, onboa^t by blood or hann. 
That needs nor foreign aid nor ann, 

A triumph all thine own. 
8nch waits thee when thoa shalt control 
Those paSBons wild, that stabbom soul. 

That mailed fixy prospero u s scene : — 
Hear this-^mn no unmoTed heart. 
Which Qglis, oompazing what thou abt 

With what thou miqhtVt hayb bsbc 1 ' 



i ['*'Tis done— bat yesterday a King! 

And ann*d with Kingi to stiiT»~ 
And now thou art a namitlfw thing ; 

80 aldoct--7«t aliro! 
It this the man of thooaaad thronei^ 
Who •trew'd oar earth with hostOa bonei^ 

And can he thna rarriTe ? 
CHnce he, miecall'd the Morning 8tar,l 
Nor man nor fiend h^h ftllen so £».* 

BTMm's Ode to NofoUam.'^ 



THB PIBLD OP WATERLOO. 223 

XIX. 

Thou, too, whose deeds of fiune renewed 
Bankrupt a iuiUon*s gratitude. 
To thine own noble heart must owe 
More than the meed she can bestow. 
For not a peopled just acclaim. 
Not the full hail of Europe'k fame. 
Thy Princess smiles, thy staters decree. 
The ducal rank, the garter^ knee. 
Not these such pure delight affbrd 
As that, when hanging up thy sword. 
Well mayst thou think, ** This honest steel 
Was oyer drawn for public weal ; 
And, such was rightfiil HeavenlB decree, 
Ne*er sheathed unless with victory ! 



M 



XX. 

Look forth, once more, with soften'd heart. 
Ere from the field of fame we part ; ^ 
Triumph and Sorrow border near. 
And joy oft melts into a tear. 
Alas ! what links of love that mom 
Has War^ rude hand asunder torn ! 
For ne*er was field so sternly fought. 
And ne^er was conquest dearer bought. 
Here pUed in common slaughter sleep 
Those whom afiection long shall weep : 



1 [*' We left the field of battle in such mood 

A* hninaii hearts from thence ahonld bear away ; 
And mnaing that, our porpoeed xonta pnisned. 

Which etill through scenee of recent bloodshed lar. 
Where Pmnia late, with strong and stem delight, 
Hnng on her &ted foes to persecute their flight.'* 

SOUTHJIY.'] 



^^* ™» FIKLD OF WATERLOO. 

Here ratCs the aire, that ne'er shall rtraltt 
Hu ozphanB to his heart again ; 
The son, whom, on his native shore. 
The parents voice shaU hless no more ; 
The hridegroom, who has hardly press'd 
His hluahing consort to his breast ; 
The husband, whom through many a year 
Long love and mutual fiiith endear. 
Thou canst not name one tender tie, 
But here dissolved its relics lie f 
O I when thou see'st some mourner's veil 
Shroud her thin form and visage pale. 
Or mark'W the Matron'b bursting tears 
Stream when the stricken drum she hears • 
Or see'Bt how manlier grief, suppreas'd, 
Is labouring in a father's breast^.. 
With no enquiry vain pursue 
The cause, but think on Waterloo I 

XXI. 
Period of honour as of woes, 
What bright careers twas thine to close !— 
Mark'd on thy roU of blood what names 
To Britain's memory, and to Fame% 
Laid there their last immortal claims ! 
Thou saw'st in seas of gore expire 
Redoubted Picton's soul of fire— 
Saw'st in the mingled carnage lie 

All that of PoNsoNBY could die 

Db Lancxy change LoveVi bridal-wreath. 
For laurels from the hand of Death— .> 

J t^* !!*^*'* ^^^ ^»^°«J Sir William De Lancer. manlAil 
Mc«lTed hii mortal wound on the 18th of June. See CaptaSn B. 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 225 

Saw'st gallant Miller's* Ruling eye 
Stall bent where Albion's banners fly. 
And CAinsRON,* in the shock of steel, 
Die like the offspring of Lochiel ; 
And generous Gordon,^ 'mid the strife, 
Fall while he watch'd his leader's life.— 
Ah ! though her guardian angel's shield 
Fenced Britain's hero through the field. 
Fate not the less her power made known. 
Through his fiiends' hearts to pierce his own ! 

XXII. . 

Forgive, brave Dead, the imperfect lay I 
Who may your names, your numbers, say ? 
What high-strung harp, what lofty line. 
To each the dear-eam'd praise assign, 
From high-bom chiefs of martial f^e 
To the poor soldier's lowlier name ? 
Lightly ye rose that dawning day. 
From your cold couch of swamp and clay. 
To fill, before^the sun was low. 
The bed that morning cannot know. — 

Hall'f afTecting narratiTo in the first aeries of his '* Fragments of 
Voyages and TraTels," rol. U. p. 369.] 

1 [Colonel MUler, of the Ouarda— son to Sir Wm. MiU«r, Lord 
Olenlce. When mortally wounded in the attack on the Boia de 
Bossu, he desired to see the colours of the regiment once more ere 
he died. They were waved over his head, and the expiring officer 
declared himself satisfied.! 

s [" Colonel Cameron, of Faasiefem, so often distinguished in 
Lord Wellington's despatches from Spain, fell in the action at 
Qnatre Bras, (I6th June, '1816,) while leading the 9Sd, or Gordon 
Highlanders, to charge a body of cavalry, supported by infimtiy." 
—FauTt Letters.'] 

s LColonel the Honourable Sir Alexander Gordon, brother to the 
Earl of Aberdeen, who has erected a pillar on tiie spot wh«n h« 
fell by the side of the Duke of WeUington.1 

P • 



226 THB FIBLD OP WATBRtOO. 

Oft may the tear the green sod steep^ 
And sacred be the heroes* sleep. 

Till time shall cease to run ; 
And ne*er beside their noUe grave. 
May Briton pass and fidl to crave 
A blessing on the fidlen brave 

Who fought with Wellington ! 

XXIII. 
Farewell, sad Field ! whose blighted fiice 
Wears desolation*s withering trace ; 
Long shall my memory retain 
Thy shattered huts and trampled gndn. 
With every mark of martial wrong. 
That scathe thy towers, fair Hougomont P 
Yet though thy garden*s green arcade 
The marksman^s &tal post was made. 
Though on thy shattered beeches fiell 
The blended rage of shot and shell. 
Though from thy blackenM portals torn. 
Their &11 thy blighted fruit-trees mourn. 
Has not such havoc bought a name 
Immortal in the rolls of &me ? 
Yes — Agincourt may be foigot, 
And Cressy be an unknown spot, 

And Blenheim*s name be new ; 
But still in story and in song. 
For many an age remember*d long, 
ShaD live the towers of Hougomont, 

And Field of Waterloo. 

I See Appendbc, Not* S. 



[ 227 1 



CONCLUSION. 



Stirn tide of human Time ! that lcnow*tt net rest, 
Bat, sweeping from the cradle to the tomh, 
Bear*st ever downward on thy dusky breast 
Successive generations to their doom ; 
While thy capadoos stream has equal room 
For the gay hark where Pleasured streamers sport. 
And for the prison-ship of guilt and gloom. 
The iisher-flkiff, and haige that bears a court. 
Still wafting onward all to one dark silent port ;-.. 

Stem tide of Time ! through what mysterious change 
Of hope and fear hare our finH barics been driven ! 
For neVr, before, vicissitude so strange 
Was to one race of Adam*k oflBqiring given. 
And sure such Taried change of sea and heaven. 
Such unexpected bursts of joy and woe. 
Such fearful strife as that where we hare striven. 
Succeeding ages ne*er again shall know. 
Until the awful term when Thou shalt cease to flov. 



228 TAB PISLD OP WATERLOO. 

Well haat tfaoa stood, mj Coimtiy ! — the biSTe fight 
Hast well maintainM thipoi^ good report and ill 
In thy jnst canse and in thy native mig^t. 
And in Heaven^ grace and jostice eonstant still ; 
Whether the banded prowess, strength, and skill 
Of half the world against thee stood arrayed. 
Or when, with better views and fieer will. 
Beside thee Europe^s noblest drew the blade. 
Each emuloos in arms the Ocean Queen to aid. 

Well art thou now repaid — thongh slowly rose. 
And struggled long with mists thy blaze of fiune. 
While like the dawn that in the orient glows 
On the broad wave its earlier lustre came ;' 
Then eastern Egypt saw the growing flame. 
And Maida^s myrtles gleamed beneath its ray. 
Where first the soldier, stung with generous shame. 
Rivalled the heroes of Ihe wafry way, 
And washed in foemen^s gore unjust reproach away. 

Kow, Island Empress, wave thy crest on high. 
And bid the banner of thy Patron flow. 
Gallant Saint George, the flower of Chivalry, 
For thou hast &ced, like him, a dragoit foe. 
And rescued innocence from overthrow. 
And trampled down, like him, tyrannic might. 
And to the gazing world mayst proudly show 
The chosen emblem of thy sainted Knigbt, 
Who quelled devouring pride, and vindicated right. 

Tet ^mid the confidence of just renown, 
Renown dear-bought, but dearest thus acquired, 

1 CMS.—" On th« broad ooesn fiist its Instra came.*l 



OONCLUSXON. 229 

Write, Britain, write the moral leoon down : 
Tis not alone the heart with valour fired. 
The discipline bo dreaded and admired, 
In many a field of bloody conquest known ; 
— USach maj bj fiune be lured, by gold be hired^— 
Tifl constancy in the good cause alone. 
Best justifies the meed thy valiant sons hare won. 



[ 281 J 



APPENDIX 



TO 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



NOTB A. 

Uy Ouard—mjf Choten~-ckarffeJi>r France, 
France and Napoiean.^T, 21& 

The characteriitic obstinacy of Napoleon iros nerer more tullj 
displayed than in what we may be permitted to hope will prove 
the last of his fields. He would listen to no adrice, and allow of 
no obstacles. An eyewitness has giren the following account of 
his demeanour towards the end of the action : — 

" It was near seren o'clock ; Bonaparte, who till then had re- 
mained upon the ridge of the hill whence he could best behold 
what passed, contemplated with a stem countenance, the scene of 
this horrible slaughter. The more that obstacles seemed to mul- 
tiply, the more his obstinacy seemed to increase. He became in- 
dignant at these unforeseen difficulties ; and, far from fearing to 
push to extremities an army whose confidence in him was bound- 
less, he ceased not to pour down fresh troops, and to gire orders 
to.march forward— to chaxge with the bayonet— to carry by storm. 
He was repeatedly informed, from different points, that the day 
went against him, and that the troops seemed to be disordered ; 
to which he only replied, — ' Enrovant I Bn-avaiA I* 

** One general seat to inform the Emperor that he was in a po- 
sition which he conld not maintain, because it was commanded bf 



232 APPXNDUL TO 

a battery, and nqvetted to know, at the same time, in what way 
he ahonld protect his dlTidon firom the nuuderons fire of the 
EngUeh artillery. * Let him storm the battery,' replied Bona- 
parte, and tamed his back on the aide^e^samp who brought the 
message.**— UdoMom data BcOaOe de MoHt-SL-Jtan. Pur tm 
Timctn OaOaihrt. Paris^ 1815, 8to., p. ffl. 



KOTB B. 

Tht,fiae (Mr kader atmm'd to fkofv.— P. 813. 

It has been reported that Bonaparte chaiiged at the head of his 
guards, at the last period of this dreadftil conflict. This^ howerer, 
is not accurate. He came down indeed to a hollow part of the 
high road, leading to Charleroi, within less than a quarter of a mile 
of the fiurm of La Haye Sainte, one of the points most fiercely dis- 
puted. Here he harangued the guards, and informed them tliat 
his preceding operations had destroyed the British infantry and 
caralry, and that they had only to support the fire of the artillery, 
which they were to attack with the bayonet. This exhortation 
was received with shouts of Vive VBmperao't whidi were heard 
orer all our line, and led to an idea that Napoleon was charging in 
pMson. But the guards were led on by Ney : nor did Bonaparte 
approach nearer the scene of action than the spot already men- 
tioned, which the rising banks on each side rendered secure from 
all such balls as did not come in a straight line* He witnessed the 
earlier part of the battle from places yet more remote, particular- 
ly from an observatory which had been placed there by the King 
of the Netherlands, some weeks before, for the purpose of survey- 
ing the country.^ It is not meant to infer from these particulars 
that Napoleon showed, on that memorable occasion, the least de- 
ficiency in personal courage; on the contrary, he evinced the 
greatest composure and presence of mind during the whole action. 
But it is no leas true that report has erred in ascribing to him any 
desperate efforts of valour for recovery of the battle ; and it is 
remarkable, that during the whole carnage, none of bis suite were 
either killed or wounded, whereas scarcely one of the Duke of 
Wellington's personal attendants escaped unhurt. 



1 The mistakes concerning this observatory have been mutual. 
The English supposed it was erected for the use of Bonaparte : and 
a French writer affirms it was constructed by the Duke of Wel- 
lington. 



\ 



TMI PIBLD OF WATERLOO. 233 



Note C. 

-^fya Iky eko$m troctt lojkd 

The BriUth skodi qflaftWd tUd f — P. S17. 

No peTraaston or aathoritjr covld praTtil upon the Fronch troop* 
to stand the ahook of the bayonet. The Imperial Onardi^ in parti- 
colar, hardly itood till the British were within thirty yards of 
them, although the French author, already quoted, has put into 
thdr mouths the magnanimous sentiment, " The Ouards nerer 
yield— they die." The same author has corered the plateau, or 
eminence, of St. Jean, which formed the British portion, with re- 
doubts and intrendimeats which nerer laad an existence. As the 
nanatiTe, which is in many respects curious, was written by an 
eyewitness, he was probably deceired by the appearance of a road 
and ditch which run along part of the hilL It may be also men- 
tioned, in criticising this work, that the writer mentions the Cha- 
teau, of Hongomont to hare been carried by the Frendi, although 
it waa resolutely and suceessAilly defended during the whole ao* 
tion. The enemy, indeed, possessed themselres of the wood by 
which it is surrounded, and at length set fire to the house itself; 
but the British (a detachment of the Ouards, under the command 
of Colonel Maedonnel^ and afterwards of Colonel Home) made 
good the garden, and thus preaenred, by their desperate resistance, 
the post which covered the return of the Duke of Wellington's right 



NOTB D. 

And (mihtfiddhtlottwu laid 

AUkan'ir-^M. wA detpised.—P. 218. 

L" When the engagement was ended, it eridently appeared with 
what undaunted spirit and resolution Catiline's army had been 
fined : for the body of every one was found on that rery spot which, 
during the battle, he had occupied ; those only excepted who were 
forced from their posts by the Praetorian cohort ; and eren they, 
though they fell a little out of their ranks, were all wounded be- 
fore. Catiline himself was found, &r from his own men, amidst 
the dead bodies of the enemy, breathing a little, with an air of that 
fierceness still in his fisce which he had when alire. Finally, in all 
his army, there was not so much as one firee citiaen taken prisoner. 



2S4 APPBNDtX TO TBI PIVLD OP WATSELOO. 



•tthMT in flM tnpigmmt or In ffight ; for they wpmnA. their own 
lirei at Utile ae thoee of the enony. The army of the repablic ob- 
tained the Hetoiy, indeed, Vnt tt waa neither a cheap nor a joyful 
ono, for their braveat men were either slain in battle or danger- 
onaly wonnded. Aa there were many, too, who went to view the 
field, either ovt of cuiinrity or a denre of phinder, in tnming orer 
the dead bodiea» aome fonnd a firiend, aome a relation, and aome a 
ipieat ; othen there were likewiae who diMOvered their enemies ; 
ao tiiat, throi^ the lAole army, there^i^iwaxed amixtnre of glad* 
neai and tonow, Joy and monndng.**— SalltotO 



Note E. 
— — — tkp UmerttJUr WmonmotA^—V. 8S6. 

L" Beyond these points the fig^t extended not. 

Small theatre for such a tragedy ! 
Its breadth scarce more, from eastern Popelot 

To where the groves of Hongomont on high 
Bear in the west their renerable head. 
And oorer with their shade the countless dead. 

" But wonldst thou tread this celebrated ground* 
And trace with undentanding eyes a scene 

Above all other fields of war renown'd» 
From westem Hougomontthy wny begin ; 

There was our strength on that side, and there first, 

In all its force, the storm of battle burst.**— Southxy. 

Mr. Southey adds, in a note on these verses: " So important a 
battle, perhaps, was never before fought within so small an extent 
of ground. I computed the distance between Hougomont and 
Popelot at three miles ; in a straight line it might probably not 
exceed two and a half. 

" Our guide was very much displeased at the name which the 
battle had obtained in England,—* Why call it the battle of Wa- 
terloo?* he said,—' Call it Hougomont, call it La Haye Saint, call 
it Popelot,— any thing but Waterloo."*— PiTtHum^ to Waterloo.] 



SONGS AND MISCELLANIES. 



[ 237 1 



SAINT CLOUD. 

lParii» 6(h SepUmber, 1815.] 



Soft spread the southern summer night 
Her veil of darksome blue ; 

Ten thousand stars combined to light 
The terrace of Saint Cloud. 

The evening breezes gently sighM, 

Like breath of lover true. 
Bewailing the deserted pride 

And wreck of sweet Saint Cloud. 

The drum^s deep roll was heard afar. 

The bugle wildly blew 
Good-night to Hulan and Hussar, 

That garrison Saint Cloud. 

The startled Naiads from the shade 
With broken urns withdrew. 

And silenced was that proud cascade^ 
The glory of Saint Cloud. 



238 80N08. 

We sate upon its steps of stone. 

Nor could its silence^ rue. 
When waked, to music of our own. 

The echoes of Saint Cloud. 

Slow Seine might hear each loyely note 

Fall light as summer dew, 
While through the moonless* air they float. 

Prolonged from &ir Saint Cloud. 

And sure a melody more sweet 

His waters neyer knew. 
Though mu8ic*B self was wont to meet 

With Princes at Saint Cloud. 

Nor then, with more delighted eax^ .{ 

The circle round her drew, 4 

Than ours, when gathered round to hear i 
Our songstress' at Saint Cloud. 



Few happy hours poor mortals 
Then give those hours their due. 

And rank among the foremost class 
Our evenings at Saint Cloud. 



1 [MS.— "Absence.-] 

* [MS.^" Midnight."] 

> [These lines ^rere written after an erening spent at Saint Cloud 
with the late Lady Alvanley and her daughters, one of whom was 
the songstress alluded to in the text] 



[ 239 ] 



ROMANCE OF DUNOIS. 



PROM THB FRBNCH. 



The ori(fmdl of ihia lUtU Romance makes pari of a manu- 
teript ooUection of French Songs, probably compiled by 
mmje young officer^ tehich was found on the Field of 
Waterloo, so much stained with day and toith blood, cu 
sufficiwUy to indicate what had been the fate of its late 
owner. The song is popular in France, and is rather a 
good specimen of the style of composition to which it be- 
longs. The trandatitm is strictly literal. ' 



It was Dunois, the young and braYe,wa8 bound for Pa- 
lestine, 
But 6rst he made his orisons before St. Maiy*s shrine : 

1 [This ballad appeared in 1815, in Paul's Letters^ and in the 
Edinbuxgh Annual Register. It has since been set to music by O. 
P. Graham, Esq., in Mr Thomson's Select Melodies, dccQ 
* [The oxiginal romance^ 

" Partant pour la Syrie, 
Le Jenne et brare Ihmois," &c. 
was written, and set to music also, by Hortenae Beauhamois, Du- 
chesse do St. Leu, Bx-Queen of HoUimd.] 



242 SONGS. 

*>Iid splintering lance and fidchion-sweep. 
And still was heard his warrior-lay ; 

'* My life it is my country's right, 
My heart is in my lady's bower ; 

For love to die, for fame to fight. 
Becomes the valiant Troubadour." 

Alas ! upon the bloody field 

He fell beneath the foeman's glaive, 
fiat still reclining on his shield. 

Expiring sung the exulting stave :— - 
" My life it is my country's right, 

My heart is in my lady's bower ; 
For love and feme to fall in fight 

fiecomes the valiant Troubadour." 



FROM THE FRENCH.^ 



It chanced that Cupid on a season. 
By &ncy urged, resolved to wed. 

But could not settle whether Reason 
Or Folly should partake his bed. 

What does he then ? — Upon my life, 
Twas bad example for a deity — 

He takes me Reason for a wife. 
And Folly for his hours of gaiety. 

^ [This trifle also is from the French Collection, fonnd at Wa- 
terloo.— See Paul's Letters.] 



THB RSSOLVJB. 248 

Thou^ thus he dealt in petty treeson. 
He loved them both In equal measure ; 

Fidelity was bom of Season, 
And Folly brought to bed of Pleasure. 



THE RESOLVE.* 

IK IMITATTON OV AN OLD SKOLISH PO<M.^1809. 



My wayward &te I needs must plain. 

Though bootless be the theme ; 
I lored, and was belored again. 

Yet all was but a dream : 
For, as her lore was quickly got. 

So it was quickly gone ; 
No more 1*11 bask in flame so hot, 

But coldly dwell alone. 

Not maid more bright than maid was e^er 

My &ncy shall beguile, 
By flattering word, or feigned tear. 

By gesture, look, or smile : 
No more 1*11 call the shaft fair shot, 

TiU it has &irly flown. 
Nor scorch me at a flame so hot v— 

I'll rather freeze alone. 

' LPublished in the BcUnboxgh Annual Better of ISOa] 



244 soNOS. 

Each ambuah'd Cupid I'll defy, 

In cheek, or chin, or brow. 
And deem the glance of woman's eye 

As weak as woman's tow : 
I'll lightly hold the lady's heart, 

That is but lightly won ; 
I'll steel my breast to beauty's art, 

And learn to liye alone. 

The flaunting torch soon blazes out, 

The diamond's ray abides ; 
The flame its glory hurls about, 

The gem its lustre hides ; 
Such gem I fondly deem'd was mine, 

And glow'd a diamond stone. 
But, since each eye may see it shine, 

I'll darkling dwell alone. 

No waking dream shaU tinge my thought 

With dyes so bright and vain. 
No silken net, so slightly wrought. 

Shall tangle me again ; 
No more 111 pay so dear for wit, 

111 live upon mine own. 
Nor shall wild passion trouble it, — 

I'll rather dwell alone. 

And thus I'll hush my heart to rest,— 

«« Thy loving labour's lost ; 
Thou shalt no more be wildly blest, 

To be so strangely crost : 
The widow'd turtles mateless die. 

The Phcenix is but one ; 
They seek no loves— no more will I— 

I'll rather dwell alone," 



mm 



[ 245 ] 



THE POACHER.' 



Wblcomb, graye Stranger, to our green retreats, 
Where health with exercise and freedom meets ! 
Thrice welcome, Sage, whose philosophic plan 
By nature*8 limits metes the rights of man ; 
Generous as he, who now for freedom bawls. 
Now gives full value for true Indian shawls : 
O'er court, o*er customhouse, his shoe who flings. 
Now bilks excisemen, and now bullies kings. 
Like his, I ween, thy comprehensive mind 
Holds laws as mouse-traps baited for mankind ; 
Thine eye, applausive, each sly vermin sees. 
That baulks the snare, yet battens on the cheese ; 
Thine ear has heard, with scorn instead of awe. 
Our buckskinn'd justices expound the law. 
Wire-draw the acts that fix for wires the pain, 
And for the netted partridge noose the swain ; 
And thy vindictive arm would iaia have broke 
The last light fetter of the feudal yoke. 
To give the denizens of wood and wild. 
Nature's free race, to each her free-bom child. 
Hence hast thou mark'd, with grief, fair London's race, 
Af ock'd with the boon of one poor Easter chase. 
And long'd to send them forth as free as when 
Pour'd o'er Chantilly the Parisian train. 
When musket, pistol, blunderbuss, combined. 
And scarce the field-pieces were Idft behind ! 

I [First published in the Edinburgh Annufd Register, 1809.] 



246 MISCBLLANIBS. 

A iquadion^s chaige each le^eret^s heart dismayed 

Ou every covey fired a bold brigade : 

La Douce HumanUe approved the sport. 

For great the alarm indeed, yet small the hurt ; 

Shouts patriotic solemnized the day, 

And Seine re-echo*d Vive la Liberti ! 

But mad CVtoym, meek Monsieur again, 

With some few added links resumes his chain. 

Then since such scenes to France no more are known. 

Come, view with me a hero of thine own ! 

One, whose A'ee actions vindicate the cause 

Of silvan liberty o*er feudal laws. 

Seek we yon glades, where the proud oak overtops 
Wide-waving seas of birch and hazel copse. 
Leaving between deserted isles of land, 
Where stunted heath is patched with ruddy sand ; 
And lonely on the waste the yew is seen. 
Or sbtiggling hollies spread a brighter green. 
Here, little worn, and winding dark and steep. 
Our scarce marked path descends yon dingle deep : 
Follow — ^but heedful, cautious of a trip, — 
In earthly mire philosophy may slip. 
Step slow and wary o'er that swampy stream. 
Till, guided by the charcoal*s smothering steam. 
We reach the frail yet barricaded door 
Of hovel formed for poorest of the poor ; 
No hearth the fire, no vent the smoke receives. 
The walls are wattles, and the covering leaves ; 
For, if such hut, our forest statutes say. 
Rise in the progress of one night and day, 
(Though placed where still the Conqueror's bests o'erawe. 
And his son^l stirrup shines the badge of law,) 
The builder claims the unenviable boon. 
To tenant dwelling, framed as slight and soon 



THB POACHER. 247 

As wigwam wild, that shrouds the native frore 
On the bleak coast of frost-barr*d Labrador.' 

Approach, and through the unlatticed window peep-^ 
Nay, shrink not back, the inmate is asleep ; 
Sunk *mid yon sordid blankets, till the sun 
Stoop to the west the plunderer^s toils are done. 
Loaded and primed, and prompt for desperate hand, 
Rifle and fowling-piece beside him stand. 
While round the hut are in disorder laid 
The tools and booty of his lawless trade ; 
For force or fraud, resistance or escape. 
The crow, the saw, the bludgeon, and the crape. 
His pilfered powder in yon nook he hoards, 
And the filch*d lead the churches roof affords— 
(Hence shall the rector^s congr^;ation fret. 
That while his sermon^s dry his walls are wet) 
The fish-spear barbed, the sweeping net are there, 
Doe-hides, and pheasant plumes, and skins of hare. 
Cordage for toils, and wiring for the snare. 
BarterM for game from chase or warren won. 
Yon cask ^olds moonlight,* run when moon was none 
And late snatched spoils lie stowed in hutch apart. 
To wait the associate higgler^s evening cart. 

Look on his pallet foul, and mark his rest : 
What scenes perturbed are acting in his breast ! 

) Such is the law in the New Forest, Hampshire, tending greatly 
to increase the rarions settlements of thieres, smugglers* and deer 
stealers, who infest it. In the forest courts the presiding judge wears 
as a badge of office an antique stirrup, said to hare been that of 
William Rnfus. 8eo Mr. William Bose's spirited poem, entitled, 
" The Red King." 

[" To the bleak coast ottavoffe Labrador."— Falcoitbr.] 

* A cant term for smuggled spirits. 



248 liUCBLLANlIS. 

HiB sable brow is wet and wrung with pain, 
And his dilated nostiil toils in vain ; 
For short and scant the breath each eifort draws, 
And *twixt each effort Nature claims a pause. 
Beyond the loose and sable neckcloth stretched. 
His sinewy throat seems by convulsion twitched. 
While the tongue Alters, as to utterance loth. 
Sounds of dire import — ^watchword, threat, and oath. 
Though, stupified by toil, and drugged with gin. 
The body sleep, the restless guest within 
Now plies on wood and wold his lawless trade, 
Now in the fangs of justice wakes dismayM 

** Was that wild start of terror and despair. 
Those bursting eyeballs, and that wilder'd air, 
Signs of compunction for a murdered hare ? 
Do the locks bristle and the eyebrows arch. 
For grouse or partridge massacred in March ? " — 

No, scoffer, no I Attend, and mark with awe. 
There is no wicket in the gate of law ! 
He, that would e^er so lightly set ajar 
That awful portal, must undo each bar ; 
Tempting occasion, habit, passion, pride. 
Will join to storm the breach, and force the barrier wide. 

That ruffian, whom true men avoid and dread. 
Whom bruisers, poachers, smugglers, call Black Ned, 
Was Edward Mansell once ; — ^the lightest heart, 
That ever play'd on holyday his part ! 
The leader he in every Christmas game, 
The harvest-feast grew blither when he came. 
And liveliest on the chords the bow did glance. 
When Edward named the tune and led the dance. 



THJE POACUER. 249 

Kiud was his heart, his passioiui quick and itrong, 

Hearty his laugh, and jovial was his song ; 

And if he loved a gun, his father swore, 

^ Twas but a trick of youth would soon be o'er, 

Himself had done the same some thirty years before." 

But he whose humours spurn law^s awful yoke. 
Must herd with those by whom law^s bonds are broke, 
The common dread of justice soon allies 
The clown, who robs the warren, or excise. 
With sterner felons trained to act more dread. 
Even with the wretch by whom his fellow bled. 
Then, as in plagues the foul contagions pass. 
Leavening and festering the corrupted mass,— 
Guilt leagues with guilt, while mutual motives draw. 
Their hope impunity, their fear the law ; 
Their foes, their friends, their rendezvous the same. 
Till the revenue baulk'd, or pilfer'd game. 
Flesh the young culprit, and example leads 
To darker villany, and direr deeds. 

Wild howrd the wind the forest glades along. 
And oft the owl renewed her dismal song *, 
Around the spot where erst he felt the wound. 
Bed llVilliam's spectre walk'd his midnight round. 
When o'er the swamp he cast his blighting look. 
From the green marshes of the stagnant brook 
The bittem^s sullen shout the sedges shook ! 
The wading moon, with storm-presaging gleam. 
Now gave and now withheld her doubtful beam ; 
The old Oak stooped his arms, then flung them high. 
Bellowing and groaning to the troubled sky— 
*Twas then, that, couched amid the brushwood sere, 
In Malwood-walk young Mansell watch'd the deer : 



250 MISCKLLANIKS. 

The fiittest buck receired his deadly shot — 
The watchful keeper heard, and sought the spot 
Stout were their hearts, and stubborn was their strife. 
Overpowered at length the Outlaw drew his knife. 
Kext mom a corpse was found upon the fell — 
The rest his waking agony may tell ! 



EPITAPH/ 

OUJONXD FOR A MONUMSNT 

IN LrCHTMLD CATHSORAL, AT THB BURfAL-PLACS 

or TBB PAMILY OP MOBB BBWARD. 



Amid these aisles, where once his precepts show'd 
The Heavenwaid pathway which in life he trode. 
This simple tablet marks a Father's bier, 
And those he loved in life, in death are near ; 
For him, for them, a Daughter bade it rise. 
Memorial of domestic charities. 
Still wouldst thou know why o'er the marble spread. 
In female grace the willow droops her head ; 
Why on her branches, silent and unstrung. 
The minstrel harp is emblematic hung ; 
What poet's voice is smother'd here in dust 
Till waked to join the chorus of the just, 

I [BdinbuiiKh Annual Register, 1809.] 



BPITAPU ON MB8. SBSKINB. 251 



Lo ! one brief line an answer sad mippllea. 
Honoured, beloved, and moum'd, here Sbward lies ! 
Her worth, her warmth of heart, let friendship say^ 
Go seek her genius in her living lay. 



EPITAPH ON MRS. ERSKINE.* 

[1819.] 



Plain, as her native dignity of mind. 
Arise the tomb of her we have resigned ; 
Unflaw*d and stainless be the marble scroll, 
Emblem of lovely form, and candid soul—- 
But, oh I what symbol may avail, to tell 
The kindness, wit, and sense, we loved so well ! 
What sculpture show the broken ties of life. 
Here buried, with the parent, friend, and wife ! 
Or on the tablet stamp each title dear. 
By which thine urn, Euphbmia, claims the tear ! 
Yet taught, by thy meek suffeianoe, to assume 
Patience in anguish, hope beyond the tomb. 
Resigned, though sad, this votive verse shall flow. 
And brief, alas ! as thy brief span below. 



1 [Mn. Bnphemis BoUfon, wife of Wflliam Brtkin«, Ecq. (after- 
warda Loxd Kinedder,) died September, 1819, and was buried at 
Saline in the county of Fife, where theee lines are inscribed on the 
tombstone.] 



[ 252 ] 



PROLOGUE 
TO MISS BAILLIE'S PLAY 



OP THB 



FAMILY LEGEND.^ 



^is sweet to hear expiring Summer^ sigh, 
Through forests tinged with russet, wail and die ; 
Tis sweet and sad the latest notes to hear 
Of distant music, dying on the ear ; 
But far more sadly sweet, on foreign strand. 
We list the legends of our native land, 
Link'd as they come with every tender tie. 
Memorials dear of youth and infancy. 

Chief, thy wild tales, romantic Caledon, 
Wake keen remembrance in each hardy son. 



1 [MiM Baillie'B Famiiy LtgenA wasprodnced with considerable 
racceat on the Edinhuigh stage in the winter of 180&-IO. This 
prologue iras spoken on that occasion by the Anthor^s friend, Mr. 
Daniel TenyO 



PROLOGUX TO THB FAMILY LIOXND. 253 

Whether on Indians burning coaats he toil, 

Or till ArcadiaV winter-fetter'd soil, 

He hears with throbbing heart and moistened eyes. 

And, aa he hears, what dear illusions rise ! 

It opens on his soul his native dell. 

The woods wild waving, and the water's twell ; 

Tradition's theme, the tower that threats the plain. 

The mossy cairn that hides the hero slain ; 

The cot beneath whose simple porch were told. 

By grey-hair'd patriarch, the tales of old. 

The in&nt group that huah'd their sports the while, 

And the dear maid who listened with a smile. 

The wanderer, while the vision warms his brain, 

Is denizen of Scotland once again. 

Are such keen feelings to the crowd confined, 
And sleep they in the Poet*s gifted mind ? 
Oh no I For She, within whose mighty page 
Each tyrant Passion shows his woe and rage, 
Has felt the wizard influence they inspire, 
And to your own traditions tuned her lyre. 
Yourselves shall judge— whoever has raised the sail 
By Mull's dark coast, has heard this evening's tale. 
The plaided boatman, resting on his oar. 
Points to the fatal rock amid the roar 
Of whitening waves, and tells whatever to-night 
Our humble stage shall offer to your sight ; . 
Proudly preferr'd that first our efforts give 
Scenes glowing from her pen to breathe and live ; 
More proudly yet, should Caledon approve 
The filial token of a Daughter's love. 

1 ArcadU» or Nora Scotia. 



I 2« J 



MR. KEMBLE'S FAREWELL ADDRESS; 



ON TAXIVa LXAVB OF TBB KDnVBUBOR BTAGB. 



As the worn war-hone, at the tnunpet^s sound. 

Erects his mane, and neighs, and paws the ground — 

Disdains the ease his generous lord assigns. 

And longs to rush on the emhattled lines. 

So I, your plaudits ringing on mine ear, 

CSan scarce sustain to think onr parting near ; 

To think my scenic hour for ever post. 

And that those valued plaudits are my last. 

Why should we part, while still some powers remain. 

That in your service strive not yet in vain? 



1 [These lines first appeared, April 5, 1817> in a weekly sheet, 
called " The Sale Boom," conducted and publiBhed by Messrs. 
Ballantyne and Co., at Edinburgh. In a note prefixed, Mr. James 
Ballantyne says, " The character fixed upon, with happy proprie- 
ty, for Kemble's closing scene, was Macbeth, in which he took his 
final leare of Scotland on the evening of Saturday, the 29th March, 
1817> He had laboured under a severe cold for a few days before, 
but on this memorable night the physical annoyance yielded to 
the energy of his mind. — ' He was,' he said, in the green-room, im- 
mediately before the curtain rose, * determined to leave behind 
him the most perfect specimen of his art which he had ever shown ;' 
and his success was complete. At the moment of the tyrant's 
death the curtain fell by the universal acclamation of the audience. 
The applauses were vehement and prolonged ; they ceased— were 



MR. KEMBLle^H PARBWBLL ADDRBSS. 255 

Cannot high zeal the strength of youth supply, 

And sense of duty fire the fading eye *, 

And all the wrongs of age remain subdued 

Beneath the burning glow of gratitude? 

Ah, no ! the taper, wearing to its close. 

Oft for a space in fitAil lustre glows ; 

But all too soon the transient gleam is past, 

It cannot be renewed, and will not last ; 

Even duty, zeal, and gratitude, can wage 

But short-lived conflict with the frosts of age. 

Yes ! It were poor, remembering what I was. 

To live a pensioner on your applause. 

To drain the dregs of your endurance dry. 

And take, as alms, the praise I once could buy ; 

Till every, sneering youth around inquires, 

^ Is this the man who once could please our sires ?^* 

And scorn assumes compassion^s doubtful mien. 

To warn me off from the encumbered scene. 

This must not be ; — and higher duties crave 

Some space between the theatre and grave. 

That, like the Roman in the Capitol, 

I may adjust my mantle ere I fall ] 

My lifers brief act in public service flown. 

The last, the closing scene, must be my own. 

reaumed — rose again— were reiterated — and again were hush- 
ed. In a few miautes the curtain ascended, and Mr. Kemble 
came forward in the dress of Macbeth, (the audience by a con- 
sentaneous moyement rising to receive him,) to deliver his fare- 
well. -..--*' Mr. Kemble delivered these lines with exquisite 
beauty, and with an effect that was evidenced by the tears and sobs 
of many of the audience. His own emotidns were very conspicu- 
ous. When his farewell was closed, he lingered long on the stage, 
as if unable to retire. The house again stood up, and cheered him 
with the waving of hats and long shouts of applause. At length, 
he finally retired, and, in so far as regards Scotland, the curtain 
dropped upon his professional life for ever.**] 



356 1II9CBLLANIX8. 

Here, then, adieu I while yet some weU-giaced parts 
Kay fix an ancient fiivourite in your hearts. 
Not quite to be foif;otten, even when 
You look on better actors, younger men : 
And if your boioms own this kindly debt 
Of old remembrance, how shall mine forget— 
O, how forget ! — how oft I hither came. 
In anxious hope, how oft returned with fione ! 
How oft around your circle this weak hand 
Has waved immortal Shakspeare^s magic wand. 
Till the full burst of inspiration came. 
And I have felt, and you have fiinn^d the flame ! 
By memory treasured, while her reign endures. 
Those hours must live — and all their charms are yours. 

O fkvour^d Land ! renown'd for arts and arms. 
For manly talent, and for female charms. 
Could this full bosom prompt the sinking line. 
What fervent benedictions now were thine ! 
But my last part is playM, my knell is rung. 
When e'en your praise falls faltering from my tongue ; 
And all that you can hear, or I can tell. 
Is— Friends and Patrons, hail, and parb yb well. 



*k 



I 257 ] 



EPILOGUE TO THE APPEAL,' 

8POKBN By MRS. HBNRY 8IDDON8, 
Fbb. 16, 1816. 



A CAT of yore (or else old JEaojp lied) 

Was changed into a Sail and blooming bride, 

But spied a mouse upon her marriage-day. 

Forgot her spouse, and seized upon her prey ; 

Even thus my bridegroom lawyer, as you saw. 

Threw ofF poor me, and pounced upon papa. 

His neck firom Hymen^s mystie knot made loose. 

He twisted round my sirens the literal noose. 

Such are the fruits of our dramatic lab«itr 

Since the New Jail became our next-door neighbour.' 

Yes, times are changed ; for, in your fathers^ age, 
The lawyers were the patrons of the stage ; 

I [" The Appeal,** a Tragedy, by John Gait, the celebrated au- 
thor of the *' AnnalB of the Parish,** and other Novels, was play- 
ed for four nights at this time in Edinbuigh.] 

' It is necessary to mention, that the allusions in this piece are 
all local, and addressed only to the Edinburgh audience. The 
new prisons of the c|ty, en the Calton Hill, are not far from the 
theatre. 

R 



258 

However hig^ advanoed bj future fifte. 

There etands the bench (j)omti to lie FU) that first le- 

ceived their wei^t. 
The future I^^ nge, *twii8 omB to see. 
Doom though unwigg^d, and plead without a iSse. 

But now, astoondiDg each poor mimic elf. 
Instead of lawjers comes the hiw herself; 
Tremendous neighbour, on our right she dwelll^ 
Builds high her towers and ezcarates her cells ; 
While on the left, she agitates the town. 
With the tempestuous question. Up or down ? ^ 
Twist Scylla and Charybdis thus stand we, 
Law^s final end, and law's uncertainty. 
But, soft ; who lives at Rome the Pope must flatter. 
And jails and lawsuits are no jesting matter. 
Then — just &rewell ! we wait with serious awe 
Till your applause or censure gives the law. 
Trusting our humble efforts may assure ye, 
We hold you Court and Counsel, Judge and Jury. 



I At thii time, the public of Edinbnrgh wa> xnach agitated by a 
lawfnit betwixt the Magistrates and many of the Inhabitants of 
the City, concerning a range of new buildings on the western side 
of the North Bridge ; which the latter insisted should be removed 
as a deformity. 



[ 259 J 



EPILOGUE^ 



TO TBB DRAXIA WOUSDWD ON " BT. BONAN'S WSLL. 



[" After the phjf, ihe following hwnorout addreu {ascribed 
to an emineHt Uterary character) waa spoken tnih infinite 
efbet by Mr. Machay in ihe character ofNLeg Doddg.'*—. 
Edinburgh Weekly Journal^ 9th June 1824.] 



[Enter Mbo Dodds, encircled by a crowd of unruly boys, 
whom a town'e-ojioer is drimng oJ'J] 

Tbat^s light, friend — drive the gaitlings hack, 
And lend jon muckle ane a whack ; 
Your Embro* halms are grown a pack, 

Sae proud and saucy, 
They scarce will let an auld wife walk 

Upon your causey. 

I*ve seen the day they would been scaurM, 
Wi* the Tolbooth, or wi' the Guard, 



1 [TUf and the three auoceediag piecei were firat collected in the 
edition of Sir Walter Scott'i Poetical Worki in 1834.1 



960 uiacBLLANin. 

Or maybe wud hae some regard 

For Jamie Laing — ^ 

The Water-hole * was right weel wared 

On sic a gang. 

But wharfs the gude Tolbooth' gane now? 
Whar's the auld Claught,^ wi* red and blue ? 
Whar's Jamie Laing ? and whar's John Doo ?^ 

And wharfs the Weigb-house ?* 
Deil hae*t I see but what is new, 

Except the Playbouse ! 

Yoursells are changed frae head to heel, 
Theresa some that gar the causeway reel 
With clashing hufe and rattling wheel,* 

And horses canterin*, 
Wha^s fiithers daundered hame as weel 

Wi* lass and lantern. 

Mysell being in the public line, 
I look for howfis I kennM lang syne. 



1 LJunc> Laing was one of the Depnte-Clerks of the city of 
Edinbnigh, and in his official connexion -with the Police and the 
C!ouncil-Chamber, his name was a constant terror to evil-doen. 
He died in February, 1806.] 

« [The Watch-hole,] 

s ["The Tolbooth of Edinhnigh, The Heart of Mid-Lothian, was 
pulled down in 1817.] 

4 [The ancient Town Guard. The reduced remnant of this bodj 
of police was finally disbanded in 1817.1 

s [John Doo, or Dhu— a tenifio-lookiDg uid high-spirited mem- 
ber of the Town Guard, and of whom thne is a print by Kaj, 
etched in 1784.] 

[The Weigh-house, situated at the head of the West Bow; 
Lawnmarket, and which had long been looked upon as an encum- 
brance to the street, was demolished in order to make way for tho 
royal procession to the Castle, which took place on the 32d oC 
August, 188S.1 



V 



UKLOOUl TO ST. RONikN'8 WXLL. 261 

Whar gentles used to drink gude wine, 

And eat cheap dinners ; 

But dell a soul gangs there to dine. 

Of saints or sinners ! 

Fortune*s^ and Hunter*s* gane, alas ! 
And Baylors' is lost in empty space ; 
And now if folk would splice a brace. 

Or crack a bottle, 
They gang to a new-fangled place 

They ca* a Hottle. 

The deevil hottle them for Meg ! 
They are sae greedy and sae gleg, 
That if ye^ served but wi* an egg, 

^ (Andthat^s puir picking,) 
In comes a chiel and makes a log. 

And charges chicken I 

^ And wha may he be,** gin ye speer, 

**' That brings your auld-warld dareis here ? " 



1 [Fortune's TaTem— a house <m the west side of the Old Stamp 
Office Cloee, High Street, and which was, in the early part of the 
last century, the mansion of the Earl of EgUntoun.— The Lord 
High Commissioner to the General Assembly of the day held his 
levees and dinners in this tavern.] 

s [Honter's— another pnce much-freqnented tavera, in Writer's 
Court, Royal Exchange.] 

8 [Bayle's Tavern and Coffeehouse, originally on the North 
Bridge, east side, afterwards in Shakspeare Square, but removed 
to admit of the opening of Waterloo Place. Such was the digni. 
fied character of this house, that the waiter always appeared in 
full dress, and nobody was admitted who had not a white neck- 
cloth—then considered an indispensable insigninm of a gentl»< 
man.] 



Stf3 MHC1I.LANH8. 

Troth, if thero^ onybody near 

That kens the roads, 

111 hand ye Buigimdy to beer. 

He keiui Meg Dodds. 

I came a piece finae west o* Came ; 
And once I lee you*re in a huny, 
Your patience 1*11 nae langer worry. 

But be aae crouse 
As speak a word for ane Will Murray,^ 

That keeps this house. 

Plays are auld-fiwhion^d things, in truth. 
And ye>e seen wonders mair uncouth ; 
Yet actoiB shoudna suffer drouth. 

Or want of dramock. 
Although they speak but wi* their mouth. 

Not with their stamock. 

But ye take care of a* folk^s pantry ; 

And surely to hae stooden sentry 

Ower this big house, (that^s far frae rent-free,) 

For a lone sister, 
Is claims as gude^s to be a yentri— 

HowHi ca*d — loquister. 

Weel, sirs, gude^en, and have a caie. 
The bairns mak fun o* Meg nae mair ; 
For gin they do, she tells you fair. 

And without failzie. 
As sure as ever ye sit there, 

She*ll teU the BaUie. 

1 [Mr. Wm. Murray became maDBser of the Edinburgh Theatro 
in 1815.] 



[ 263 ] 



epilogue; 



Thb sages— for authority, pray, look 

Seneca*s morals, or the copy-book — 

The sagefl to disparage woman^s power, 

Say, beauty is a &ir, but fading flower v— 

I cannot tell— I>e small philosophy— 

Yet, if it fades, it does not surely die, 

But, like the Tiolet, when decayed in bloom, 

Survives through many a year in rich perfume. 

Witness our theme to-night, two ages gone, 

A third wanes fast, since Mary fiird the throne. 

Brief was her bloom, with scarce one sunny day, 

*Twixt Pinkie's field and fatal Fotheringay : 

But when, while Scottish hearts and blood you boast, 

Shall sympathy with Mary*s woes be lost P 

O'er Mary's mem'ry the leam'd quarrel. 

By Mary's grave the poet plants his laiuel. 

Time's echo, old tradition, makes her name 

The constant burden of his faulting theme ; 

In each old hall his grey-hair'd heralds tell 

Of Mary's picture, and of Mary's cell. 



I [" I recovered the above with Mme difficulty. I beliere it 
was never flpoken, but written for aome play, afterwards withdrawn, 
in which Mn. H. Slddona wae to hare spoken it in the character 
of Qneen Uaiy.**^Exiract from a Letter qf Sir FFaUer Scott to 
Mr. Qjmuau, 22d October, 1884.3 



264 

And show— my fiqgen tbg^e at the thoQg^it— . 

The loads of tapestiy which that pow Queen wrought. 

In TBin did &te bestow a doable dower 

Of ew*rj ill that waits on rank and pow% 

Of eT^ ill on beaaty that attends— 

False ministerB, fidse loTeis, and fidse friends. 

Spite of three wedlocks bo completely cunt, 

They roM in ill from bad to worse, and worrt. 

In spite of eirors — ^I dare not say more. 

For Duncan Targe lays hand on his claymore. 

In spite of all, however humouis yaiy. 

There is a talisman in that word Maiy, 

That unto Scottish bosoms all and some 

Is found the genuine open tesamwn ? 

In history, ballad, poetry, or novel. 

It charms alike' the castle and the hovel. 

Even you— foigive me — who, demure and shy, 

Goige not each bait, nor stir at every fly. 

Must rise to this, else in her ancient reign 

The Rose of Scotland has survived in vain. 



INSCRIPTION 

rOk THB MONUMSNT OF THS RSV. OBOROS tCOTT.! 



To youth, to age, alike, this tablet pale 
Tells the brief moral of its tragic tale. 

1 [This yoang gentleman, a son of the Author*! friend and rela« 
tion, Hugh Scott of Harden, Esq., became Rector of Kentisbeare, 
in Deyonshire, in I8S8, and died there the 9th June, 1830. TUg 
epitaph appears on his tomb in the chancel there.] 



THN BANNATVNB CLUB. 265 

Art thou a parent ? Reverence thii bier. 
The parents* fondest hopes lie buried here. 
Art thou a youth, prepared on life to start. 
With opening talents and a generous heart. 
Fair hopes and flattering prospects all thine own ? 
Lo ! here their end — a monumental stone. 
But let submission tame each sorrowing thought, 
Heaven crowned its champion ere the flght was fought. 



THE BANNATYNE CLUB.» 



I. 

ASSIST me, ye friends of Old Books and Old Wine, 
To sing in the praises of sage Bannatyne, 
Who left such a treasure of old Scottish lore 
As enables each age to print one volume more. 

One volume more, my friends, one volume more, 
We*ll ransack old Banny for one volume more. 

II. 

And first, Allan Ramsay, was eager to glean 
From Baamat3me*s Hortus his bright Evergreen ; 
Two light little voliunes (intended for four) 
Still leave us the task to print one volume more. 

One volume more, &c. 



1 [Sir Walter Scott wu the fint Pretideni of the Club, and 
wrote these reoM for the anniTersary dinner of March, 1823.] 



266 

IIL 

His wajB wen not oon, for he cared not a pin 
How much he left out, or how much he put in ; 
The truth of the reading he thought was a bore. 
So this accurate age calls for one Tolnme more. 

One Tolnme more, Ac 

IV. 

Correct and sagacious, then came my Lord Hailes, 
And weighed every letter in critical scales. 
But left out some brief words, which the prudish abhor. 
And castrated Banny in one rolume more. 

One volume more, my fiiendi, one volume more ; 

Well restore Banny^ manhood in one volume 
more. 

V. 

John Pinkerton next, and I^ truly concerned 
I can't call that worthy so candid as learned ; 
He rail'd at the plaid and blasphemed the dajrmore. 
And set Scots by the ears in his one volume more. 
One volume more, my firiends, one volume more, 
Celt and Goth shall be pleased with one volume 
more. 

VI. 
As bitter as gall, and as sharp as a razor, 
And feeding on herbs as a Nebuchadneisar ;^ 
His diet too add, his temper too sour. 
Little Ritson came out with his two volumes more.* 

1 [In aocordonoe with bis own regimen, Mr. Bition published a 
▼olume entitled *' An Essay on Abstinence fxom Animal Food aa 
a Moral Duty. 1802."] 

> [See an account of the Metrical Aatiquaiiaa Beseaiches of 



THB BANNATYNS CLUB. 267 

But one volume, my friends, one volume mora, 
Well dine on roast-beef and pzint one volume 
more. 

VIL 

The stout Gothic yeditur, next on the roll,^ 
With his beard like a brash, and as black as a coal ; 
And honest Greysteel* that was trae to the cora. 
Lent their hearts and their hands each to one volume 
more. 

One volume mora, &c. 

VIII. 

Since by these single champions what wonders wera 

done. 
What may not be achieved by our Thirty and One ? 
Law, GkMspel, and Commerce, we count in our corps, 
And the Trade and the Press join for one volume more. 

One volume more, &c. 

IX. 

Ancient libels and contraband books, I assure ye. 
Well print as secure from Exchequer or Jury ; 
Then hear your Committee and let them count o*er 
The duels they intend in their three volumes more. 

Three volumes more, &c. 

Pinkerton, Bitson, and Herd, Sec in the introductory Bemarkt 
on Popular Poetry prefixed to the first volnme of the Border Min- 
strelsy.! 

1 [James Sibbald. editor of Scottish Poetry, Ac, *• The Yedi. 
tar," was the name given him by the late Lord Eldin, then Mr. 
John Clerk, adrocate. The desnlption of him here is rery accu- 
rate.] 

' [Darid Herd, editor of Songs and Historical Ballads. S rols- 
He was called Oreysteel by his intimates, from haTing been iQng 
tn unsncc cs s flU quest of the rpmanoe of that name. 



Thajrll prodnee jaa King Jamie, the s^ient and Sext, 
Aad the Bob of DornhfaBie and hcrBishoiio eome next ; 
One tome mkeeUaneoai thejll add to joor atore, 
'Rmohnag next year to pnnt four Tofamiea more. 

Four Tolomea mofe» my fioenda, fear Tolmnes 



Pay down your snbacriptions for ionr Tolomcs 
more.* 



1 [TUsCl«bwMfaittitatediiitliejcarl«;f»rtlie]Mli]ieatioii 
•r reptiat of van and cnicNW wwto cotmfff cd. wiflt tha histoiy and 
aattqoitlMafSeoUaiid. It emuMted, aft lint, of a vaiy few mem- 
beii^--fradiiaOj eztaaded to one handled, aft vlueh nnmber it has 
BOW Bade a final paaee. ThejaMomethenameoftheBannatyne 
Clab ftom GeoivB Baanatjne. of whom litUe is known beyond 
that pnid%kNi8 cfint which prodaocd his present honooxa, and is, 
peihapsb one of the most singular instances of its kind which the 
Uteiatare of any co untr y exhibits. His labours as an amaaaensis 
were undertaken duing the time of pestilenoe, in 1566. Thedicad 
of infection had indnosd him to retire.into sohtnde, and nnder 
each drcumstanocs he had the eneigy to form and execute the 
plan of saTing the liteiataie of the whole nation ; and, nndistaib- 
edby the general mourning for the dead, and general fears of the 
liTing; to derote himself to the task of collecting and recording the 
triumphs of human genius in the poetry of his age and country ; — 
thus, amid the wreck of all that was mortal, employing himself 
in presenring the lays by which immortality is at once g^ren to 
otbefs, and obtained for the writer himself He informs ns of 
some of the numerous difiBculties he had to contend with in this 
self-imposed task. The rolume containing his labours, deposited 
in the Library of the Faculty of Adrocates at Edinbuigh, is no leas 
than eight hundred pages in length, and rery neatly and closely 
written, containing nearly all the ancient poetry of Scothuid now 
known to exist. 

., ^Jl5^!^***»»» association, which boasts sereral names of dis- 
*r?i^i *? '"*"* ""^^ *ad talent, has assumed rather a broader 
lonnoauon than the parent society, the Roxburghe Club in Lon- 
don, wnicn. In its plan, being restzloted to the reprinting of single 
*3SU« 1****^*^ at the expense of an individual member, it 
TOiiows as almost a necensary consequence, that no volume of con- 



THB BANNATYNS CLUB. 269 

aiderable sise has emanated from it, and its range has been thus 
far limited in point of utility. The Bannatyne, holding the same 
system with respect to the ordinuy species of Club reprints, le- 
-vies, moreorer, a fund among its members of about ^'500 a-year, 
expressly to be applied for the editing and printing of works of ac- 
knowle^^^ importance, and likely to be attended with expense 
beyond the reasonable bounds of an indiridual's contribution. In 
this way either a member of the Club, or a competent person nn« 
der its patronage, superintends a particular rolnme, or set of to- 
lumes. Upon these occasions, a rery moderate number of copies 
are thrown o£f for general sale ; and those belonging to the Club 
are only distinguished from the others by being printed on the 
paper, and ornamented with the decorations, peculiar to the SO" 
ciety. In this way sereral useful and eminently raluable works 
hare recently been giren to the public for the first time, or at least 
with a degree of accuracy and authenticity which they had uerer 
before a.ttaiaed.—Abridffed/irom the Quarteriy Beview^Anr. Pit 
eaim'i Ancient Criminal Trials. February, 1831.3 



[ 271 ] 



BALLADS PROM THE GERMAN. 



WILLIAM AND HELEN. 

[1796.1] 

lUlTATED WnOU THS "LXKOBA " OW BUROSB. 



Thb Author had resolved to omit the following ver- 
lion of a well-known Poem, in any collection which he 
might make of his poetical trifles. But the publishers 
having pleaded for its admission, the Author has con- 
sented, though not unaware of the disadvantage at 
which this youthful essay (for it was written in 1795) 
must appear with those which have been executed by 
much more able hands, in particular that of Mr. Taylor 
of Norwich, and that of Mr. Spencer. 



1 [Thb Chasb, and William akd Hblbn ; Two BalladB, firom 
the Oennon of Oottfiried Augnstus BQiiger. Edinburgh : Print- 
ed by MiindeU and Son, Boyal Bank Close, for Manners and Mil- 
ler, Parliament Square ; and sold by T. Cadell, Jnnr., and W. 
Dayies, in the Strand, London. 1796. 4to.— See " Enay on Imi- 
tations of the Ancient Ballad," in Border Mint¥nUift ^ the pre- 
sent edition, toL ir. pp. fiff-€B.l 



272 BALLADS. 

The following Translation was written long before the 
Author saw any other, and originated in the following 
circumstances: — A lady of high rank in the literary 
world read this romantic tale, as translated by Mr. 
Taylor, in the house of the celebrated Professor Dugald 
Stewart of Edinburgh. The Author was not present, 
nor indeed in Edinburgh at the time ; but a gentlenuui 
who had thepleasureof hearingtheballad, afterwards told 
him the story» and rejieated the remarkable chorus — 

4 

'* Trsmp I tramp ! acron the land fhey ipeede, 

Splaah I splash ! across the sea ; 
Hurrah ! The dead can ride apace ! 

Dost fear to ride with me ?** 

In attempting a translation then intended only to cir- 
culate among friends, the present Author did not hesi- 
tate to make use of this impressive stanza ; for which 
freedom he has since obtained the forgiveness of the in- 
genious gentleman to whom it properly belongs. 



[ 278 ] 



WILLIAM AND HELEN. 



I. 
Fbom heavy dreams fiiir Helen rose. 

And eyed the dawning red : 
" Alas, my love, thou tairiest long ! 

O art thou false or dead ?'^— 

II. 
With gallant Frederick's princely power 

He sought the bold Crusade ; 
But not a word from Judah's wars 

Told Helen how he sped. 

III. 

With Paynim and with Saracen 
At length a truce was made. 

And ev*ry knight returned to dry 
The tears his love had shed. 

IV. 
Our gallant host was homeward bound 

With many a song of joy ; 
Green waved the laurel in each plume. 

The badge of victory. 



274 BALLADS FROlf THK GEEMAN. 

V. 

And old and young, and aire and ion, 
To meet them crowd the way. 

With shoati, and mirth, and melody. 
The debt of love to pay. 

VI. 

Full many a maid her true-lo?e met. 
And Bobb 'd in his embrace, 

And flatfring joy in teats and smiles 
Anray'd foil many a fece. 

VII. 
Nor joy nor smile for Helen sad ; 

She sought the host in Tain : 
For none could tell her William's fete, 

If feithless, or if slain. 

VIII. 
The martial band is pest and gone ; 

She rends her raven hair. 
And in distraction*s bitter mood 

She weeps with wild despair. 

IX. 

**' O rise, my chiJd,'' her mother nid, 
** Nor sorrow thus in vain ; 

A perjured lover's fleeting heart 
No tears recall again/* 

X. 

" O mother, what is gone, is gone. 
What's lost for ever lorn : 

Death, death alone can comfort me •, 
O had I ne'er been bom ! 



HraLIAM AND HKLBN. 275 

XI. 
**• break, my heart, O break at once ! 

Drink my life-blood, Despair I 
No joy remainB on earth for me, 

For me in heaven no ihare.**— 

XII. 
** O enter not in judgment. Lord ! ^ 

The piouB mother prays ; 
** Impute not guilt to thy frail child ! 

She knows not what ^e says. 

XIII. 
** O say thy pater noster, child ! 

O turn to Gk>d and grace ! 
His will, that tumM thy bliss to bale, 

Can change thy bale to bliss.**— 

XIV. 
«• O mother, mother, what is bliss ? 

O mother, what is bale ? 
My William^B love was heayen on earth. 

Without it earth is helL 

XV. 
^ Why should I pray to ruthless Heaven, 

Since my loved William*s slain ? 
I only prayM for William's sake. 

And all my prayers were vain.**— 

XVI. 

** O take the sacrament, my child. 

And check these tears that flow ; 
By re8ignation*s humble prayer, 

O hallow*d be thy woe ! **— 



276 BALLADS PROM THl GERMAN. 

XVII. 

** No jacnonent can quench this fiie. 
Or dake this scorching pain : 

No sacrament can bid the dead 
Arise and liye again. 

XVIII. 
** O break, my heart, O break at once ! 

Be thou my god, Despair ! 
HeaTen*s heaviest blow has &llen on me. 

And vain each firoitless prayer.** — 

XIX. 
*^ O enter not in judgment. Lord, 

With thy fraU child of clay I 
She knows not what her tongue has spoke ; 

Impute it not, I pray I 

XX- 

^ Forbear, my child, this desperate woe, 

And turn to Qod and grace ; 
Well can devotion*s heavenly glow 

Convert thy bale to bliss.** — 

XXI. 
M O mother, mother, what is bliss ? 

O mother, what is bale ? 
Without my William what were heaven. 

Or with him what were hell ?** — 

XXII. 
Wild she arraigns the eternal doom. 

Upbraids each sacred power, 
Till, spent, she sought her silent room. 

Ail in the lonely tower. 



WILLIAM AND HSLBN. 277 

XXIII. 

She beat her breast, she wrung her hands. 

Till lun and day were o*er. 
And through the glimmering lattice shone 

The twinkling of the star. 

XXIV. 
Then, crash I the heavy drawbridge fell 

That o'er the moat was hung ; 
And, clatter I clatter ! on its boards 

The hoof of courser rung. 

XXV. 

The clank of echoing steel was heard 

As off the rider bounded ? 
And slowly on the winding stair 

A heavy footstep sounded. 

XXVI. 
And hark I and hark I a knock — Tap ! tap ! 

A rustling stifled noise v— 
Door-latch and tinkling staples ring ; — 

At length a whispering voice. 

XXVII. 
** Awake, awake, arise, my love ! 

How, Helen, dost thou &re ? 
Wak*st thou, or sleep'st ? laughs thou, or weep'st ? 

Hast thought on me, my fiur ?** — 

XXVIIL 
^ My love ! my love ! — so late by night ! — 

I waked, I wept for thee : 
Much have I borne since dawn of mom ; 

Where, tVUliam, could'st thou be?"— 



278 BALLADS FBOM THX OSRHAN. 

XXIX. 

** We nddle late— from Hmigaiy 
I rode sinoe daiknesB fell ; 

And to its bourne we both retain 
Before the matin belL"— - 



** O rest this nig^t within my aims, 

And warm thee in their fold ! 
Chill howls through hawthorn bush the wind :.- 

My lore is deadly cold.*^ 

XXXI. 

*^ Let the wind howl through hawthorn bush ! 

This night we must away ; 
The steed is wight, the spur is bright ; 

I cannot stay till day. 

XXXII. 
** Busk, busk, and boune ! Thou mountVt behind 

Upon my black barb steed : 
O^er stock and stile, a hundred miles, 

We haste to bridal bed."— 

XXXIII. 

** To-night— 4o-night a hundred miles !— 

O dearest William, stay ! 
The bell strikes twelre — dark, dismal hour ! 

O wait, my love, till day !**— . 

XXXIV. 

** Look here, look here — ^the moon shines deer- 
Full &st I ween we ride ; 

Mount and away I for ere the day 
We reach our bridal bed. 



WZLLZAM AND HSLIN. 279 

XXXV. 

*< The black baib morta, the biidle rings ; 

Haste, biuk, and boune, and seat thee I 
The feast is made, the chamber spread. 

The bridal guests await thee.**— 

XXXVI. 
Strong loTC preyailM : She busks, she bounes. 

She mounts the barb behind, 
And round her darling William^ waist 

Her lily anns she twined. 

XXXVII. 
And, hurry! hurry 1 off they rode, 

As fast as &8t might be ; 
Spum'd from the courser^s thundering heels 

The flashing pebbles flee. 

XXXVIII. 
And on the right, and on the left. 

Ere they could snatch a view. 
Fast, fiist each mountain, mead, and plain. 

And cot, and castle, flew. 

XXXIX. 

** Sit fkst— dost fear ?— The moon shines clear-* 

Fleet goes my barb^— keep hold I 
Fear*St thou ?'*— «" O no I** she £untly said ; 

^ But why so stem and cold ? 

XL. 
*^ What yonder rings ? what yonder sings ? 
Why shrieks the owlet gmy ?'*— 
Tis death-bells' clang, *tis funeral song. 
The body to the clay. 



M 



280 BALLAD* FROM THX OBaCAK. 

XLL 

** With song and clang, at moDoir's dawn^ 

Ye may inter the dead : 
To-night I ride, with my yomig bride. 

To deck our bridal bed. 

XLII. 

** Come with thy choir, thou ooffin'd guest. 

To swell our nuptial song I 
Come, priest, to bless our marriage feast ! 

Come all, come all along !"«. 

XLIII. 
Ceased ching and song ; down sunk the bier ; 

The shrouded corpse arose : 
And, hurry I hurry ! all the train 

The thundering steed pursues. 

XLIV. 

And, forward ! forward ! on they go ; 

High snorts the straining steed ; 
Thick pants the rider^s labouring breath. 

As headlong on they speed. 

XLV. 

« O William, why this savage haste ? 

And where thy bridal bed ?*^— 
^ *Ti8 distant far, low, damp, and chill, 

And narrow, trustless maid.*' 

XLVI. 

" No room for me ?" — « Enough for both ; 

Speed, speed, my barb, thy course !" — 

0*er thundering bridge, through boiling surge. 
He drove the furious horse. 



WILLIAM AND HKLKN. 281 

XLVII. 

Tramp I tramp ! along the land they rode, 

Splash ! splash ! along the sea ; 
The sconige is wight, the spur is bright, 

The flashing pebbles flee. 

XLVIII. 
Fled past on right and left how fiwt 

Each forest, grove, and bower ! 
On right and left fled past how &st 

Each city, town, and tower ! 

XLIX. 
** Dost fear ? dost fear ? The moon shines clear, 

Dost fear to ride with me ? — 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! the dead can ride !** — 

«« O William, let them be !_ 

L. 
*' See there, see there ! What yonder swings 

And creaks *mid whistling rain ?** — 
** Gibbet and steel, th* accursed wheel ; 

A murderer in his chain. — 

LI. 

"^ Hollo ! thou felon, follow here : 

To bridal bed we ride ; 
And thou shalt prance a fetter dance 

Before me and my bride.** — * 

LII. 

And, hurry ! hurry ! clash, dash, clash ! 

The wasted form descends ; 
And fleet as wind through hazel bush 

The wild career attends. 



282 BALLADS nU>M TBS 6XBMAN. 

LIIL 

Tramp! tnmip! along the land they rode, 

Spladi! qplaah! along the sea ; 
Hie soomge is led, the tpm drops Uood, 

The flashing pebUes flee; 

LIV. 

How fled what moonshine fiuntly ahowM ! 

How fled what darlmeBB hid ! 
How fled the eartti beneath theii feet. 

The heayen aboTe their head ! 

LV. 

** Dost fear? dost fear? The moon shines clear. 

And well the dead can ride ; 
Does feithful Helen fear for them ?*'^ 

** O leaye in peace the dead !**<— 

LVI. 
** Barb ! barb I methinks I hear the cock ; 

The Band will soon be run : 
Barb ! barb ! I smell the morning air ; 

The race is wellnigh done.*^ — 

LVII. 

Tramp I tramp I along the land they rode, 

Splash I splash! along the sea; 
The scouige is red, the spur drops blood. 

The flashing i>ebbles flee. 

LVIII. - 

** Hurrah ! hurrah ! well ride the dead ; 

The bride, the bride is come ; 
And soon we reach the bridal bed. 

For, Helen, here's my home."— 



WILLIAM AND HELEN. 283 

LIX. 

Reluctant on its rusty hinge 

RevoWed an iron door, 
And \iy the pale moon*s setting beam 

Were seen a church and tower. 

LX. 

With many a shriek and cry whiz round 

The birds of midnight scared ; 
And rustling like autumnal leaves 

XJnhallowM ghosts were heard. 

LXI. 
O'er many a tomb and tombstone pale 

He spurred the fiery horse, 
Till sudden at an open grave 

He checked the wondrous course. 

LXII. 

The felling gauntlet quits the rein, 

Down drojMB the casque of steel. 
The cuirass leaves his shrinking side. 

The spur his gory heeL 

LXIII. 

The eyes desert the naked scull, 

The mouldering fle^ the bone^ 
Till Helena lily aims entwine 

A ghastly skeleton. 

LXIV. 

The fiirious barb snorts fire and foam. 

And, with a fearful bound. 
Dissolves at once in empty aii^ 

And leaves her on the ground. 



284 BALLADS reOM THX OBUCAN. 

LXV. 

Half wen by fito, by fits half head. 

Pale spectres flit along, 
Wheel round the maid in dismal dance. 

And howl the fimeial song ; 

LXVI. 
** £*en when the heart's with anguish cleft, 

Beyero the doom of Heaven. 
Her soul is from her body reft ; 

Her spirit be foigiyen ! '* 



FREDERICK AND ALICE. 

[1801.] 



T&u tale it imitated, rather than transkUed from a/ra^ 
merit introduced in GiB0ui*t ** Claudina von Yilla 
Bella,** where it w tung ht/ a member of a gang o/ban- 
dUH, to engage the attention o/the/amUy^ while hie com- 
panioni break into the eaeUe, It owes €my little merit it 
ma^poseeet to m/g friend BCr. Lbwis, to whom it woe 
went Ml an extremdg rude Hate ; and who, afUr wm» 
material tmprovements, published it in his ^ Tales of 
Wonder." 



FamiEXCK leaves the land of France, 
Homeward hastes his steps to measure. 



FRXDSllICK AND ALICK. 285 

Careless' casts the parting glance 
On the scene of former pleasure. 

Joying in his pnmcing steed. 

Keen to proTe his untried blade, 
Hope^s gay dreams the soldier lead 

Over mountain, moor, and glade. 

Helpless, ruin*d, left forlorn, 

Lovely Alice wept alone ; 
Mourned o'er love's fond contract torn, 

Hope, and peace, and honour flown. 

Mark her breast's convulsive throbs ! 

See, the tear of angin'sh flows ?^ 
Mingling soon with bursting sobs. 

Loud the laugh of frenzy rose. 

Wild she cursed, and wild she pray'd ; 

Seven long days and nights are o'er ; 
Death in pity brought his aid. 

As the village bell struck four. 

Far from her, and &r from France, 

Faithless Frederick onward rides ; 
Marking, blithe, the morning's glance 

Mantling o'er the mountain's sides. 

' Heard you not the boding sound. 

As the tongue of yonder tower. 
Slowly, to the hills around. 

Told the fourth, the fated hour ? 

Starts the steed, and snuflk the air. 
Yet no cause of dread appears ; 



286 BALLAM FBOM THS GWBUAW. 

Brifltlet high Che ikter'k hair. 
Struck with itniige mpibaaoaB feen. 

Desperate, as his taroTB rise. 
In the steed the spnr he hide9 ; 

From himself in vain he flies ; 
Anxious, lestlesi, en he rides. 

Seyen long dajrs, and teTen long nights, 
Wild he wandered, woe the while ! 

Ceaseless care, and causeless fijght. 
Urge his footsteps many a mile. 

. Dark the seventh sad night descends ; 
Riven swell, and niin-streams pour ; 
While the deafening thunder lends 
All the teiTors of its roar. 

Weary, wet, and spent with toil. 

Where his head shall Frederick hide ? 

Where, hut in yon ruined aisle. 
By the lightning^ flash descried. 

To the portal, dank and low, 
Fast his steed the wanderer hound : 

Down a ruined staircase slow. 
Next his darkling way he wound. 

Long drear vaults before him lie ! 

Glimmering lights are seen to glide ! — 
^ Blessed Mary, hear my cry ! 

Deign a sinner^s steps to guide ! 



*» 



Often lost their quivering beam, 
Still the lights move slow before. 



PRBDBRICK AND ALICX. 287 

Till they rest their g^hastly gleam 
Right agaiiut an iron door. 

Thundering voices from within, 

Mix^d with peals of laughter, rose ; 
As they fell, a solemn strain 

Lent its wild and wondrous close ! 

Midst the din, he seem'd to hear 
Voice of friends, by death removed ; — 

Well he knew that solemn air, 
Twas the lay that Alice loved 

Hark I for now a solemn knell 
Four times on the still night broke : 

Four times, at its deadened swell. 
Echoes from the ruins spoke. 

As the lengthen^ clangours die. 

Slowly opes the iron door ! 
Straight a banquet met his eye. 

But a funeral's form it wore ! 

Coffins for the seats extend ; 

All with black the board was spread ; 
Girt by parent, brother, friend. 

Long since numbered with the dead ! 

Alice, in her grave-clothes bound, 

Ghastly smiling, points a seat ; 
All arose, with thundering sound ; 

All the expected stranger greet. 

High their meagre aims they wave. 
Wild their notes of welcome swell ;— 



288 BALLADS FROM THB GERMAN. 



« Welcome, traitor, to the grave ! 
Perjured, bid the light ferewell ! 



11 



THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH. 

C1818.] 



Thbse verses are a literal translation of an ancient 
Swiss ballad upon the Battle of Sempach, fought 9th 
July, 1386, being the victory by which the Swiss can- 
tons established their independence ; the author, Albert 
Tchudi, denominated the Souter, from his profession of 
a shoemaker. He was a citizen of Lucerne, esteemed 
highly among his coimtrymen, both for his powers as 
a Meister-Singer, or minstrel, and his courage as a sol- 
dier; so that he might share the praise conferred by 
Collins on iEschylus, that — 

" Not alone he nursed the poet's flame. 

But reach'd from Virtue's hand the patriot steeL" 

The circumstance of their being written by a poet re- 
turning from the well-fought field he describes, and in 
which his country*s fortune was secured; may confer on 
Tchudi*s verses an Interest which they are not entitled 
to claim from their ^poetical merit But ballad poetry, 
the more Hterally it is translated, the more it loses its 
simplicity, without acquiring either grace or strength ; 
and therefore some of the faults of the verses must be 



BATTLB OP 8EMPACH. 289 



imputed to the translator's feeling it a duty to keep as 
closely as possible to his original. The various puns, 
rude attempts at pleasantry, and disproportioned epi- 
sodes, must be set down to Tchudi's account, or to the 
taste of his age. 

The military antiquary will derive some amusement 
from the minute particulars which the martial poet has 
recorded. The mode in which the Austriui men-at- 
arms received the charge of the Swiss, was by forming a 
phalanx, which they defended with their long lances. 
The gallant Winkelreid, who sacrificed his own life by 
rushing among the spears, clasping in his arms as many 
as he could grasp, and thus opening a gap in those iron 
battalions, is celebrated in Swiss history. When fairly 
mingled together, the unwieldy length of their weapons, 
and cumbrous weight of their defensive armour, render- 
ed the Austrian men-at-arms a very unequal match for 
the light-armed mountaineers. The victories obtained 
by the Swiss over the Grerman chivalry, hitherto deem- 
ed as formidable on foot as on horseback, led to impor- 
tant changes in the art of war. The poet describes the 
Austrian knights and squires as cutting the peaks from 
their boots ere they could act upon foot, in allusion to 
an inconvenient piece of foppery, often mentioned in 
the middle ages. Leopold III., Archduke of Austria, 
called ^ The handsome man-at-arms,*' was slain in the 
Battle of Sempach, with the flower of his chivalry. 



[ 290 J 



THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH.* 



'TwAS when among our linden-trees 

The bees had housed in swarms, 
(And grey-hair*d peasants say that these 

Betoken foreign arms,) 

Then k)ok*d we down to Willisow, 

The land was all in flame ; 
We knew the Archduke Leopold 

With all his army came. 

The Austrian nobles made their vow 

So hot their heart and bold, 
" On Switzer carles well trample now, 

And slay both yoimg and old/* 

With clarion loud and banner proud. 

From Zurich on the lake. 
In martial pomp and fair array. 

Their onward march they make. 

** Now list, ye lowland nobles all — 
Ye seek the mountain strand, 

1 [T\^iB translation firat appeared in Blackwood's Edinburgh Ma. 
gaune for February 1818.— Eo.l 



i 



BATTLE OF 8BMPACH. 291 

Nor wot ye what shall be your lot 
In such a dangerous land. 

" I rede ye, shrive ye of your sins. 

Before ye farther go ; 
A skirmish in Helvetian bills 

May send your souls to woe/*-— 

" But where now shall we find a priest 

Our shrift that he may hear ?'* — 
" The Switzer priest* has ta^en the field. 

He deals a penance drear. 

" Right heavily upon your head 

HeUl lay his hand of steel 
And with his trusty partisan 

Your absolution deal." — 

Twas on a Monday morning then. 

The com was steeped in dew. 
And merry maids had sickles ta'en. 

When the host to Sempach drew. 

The stalwart men of fair Lucerne 

Together have they joinM ; 
The pith and core of manhood stem. 

Was none cast looks behind. 

It was the Lord of Hare-castle, 

And to the Duke he said, 
'* Yon little band of brethren tme 

Will meet us undismayed." — 

All the Swim clergy who were able to bear arms fought in this 



patriotic war. 



292 BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 

^ O Hare-GaBtle,^ thou heart of hare ! '' 

Fierce Oxenstem he cried^— 
** Shalt Bee then how the game will fare,*^ 

The taunted knight replied. 

There was lacing then of helmets bright. 

And closing ranks amain ; 
The peaks they hew^d from their boot-points 

Might wellnigh load a wain.' 

And thus they to each other said, 

^ Yon handful down to hew 
Will be no boastful tale to tell, 

The peasants are so few.^ — 

The gallant Swiss Confederates there 

They pray'd to God aloud, 
And he displayed his rainbow fair 

Against a sraihy cloud. 

Then heart and pulse throbbM more and more 

With courage firm and high. 
And down the good Confederates bore 

On the Austrian chivalry. 

The Austrian Lion' *gan to growl. 
And toss his mane and tail ; 

1 In the original, Houuenttein, or Hare-tUme. 

» This seems to allude to the preposterous fashion, during the 
middle ages, of wearing boots with the points or peaks turned up- 
wards, and «o long, that in some cases they were &8tened to the 
knees of the wearer with small chains. When they alighted to 
fight upon foot, it would seem that the Austrian gentlemen found 
it necessary to cut off these peaks, that they might moTe with the 
necessary activity. 

a A pun on the Archduke's name, Leopold. 



BATTLB OP ftSMPACH. 293 , 

I 



And ball, and shaft, and crossbow bolt. 
Went whistling forth like hail. 

Lance, pike, and halbert, mingled there. 

The game was nothing sweet ; 
The boughs of many a stately tree 

Lay shiver'd at their feet 

The Austrian men-at-arms stood fkst. 
So close their spears they laid ; 

It chafed the gallant Winkelreid, 
Wlio to his comrades said— 

'^ I have a yirtuous wife at home, 

A wife and in&nt son ; 
I leave them to my country *s carcy— 

This field shall soon be won. 

" These nobles lay their spears right thick, 

And keep full firm array ; 
Yet shall my charge their order break. 

And make my brethren way.*^ 

He rushed against the Austrian band, 

In desperate career. 
And with his body, breast, and hand. 

Bore down each hostile spear... 

Four lances splintered on his crest. 

Six shivered in his side ; 
Still on the serried files he pressed— 

He broke their ranks, and died. 

This patriot^s self-devoted deed 
First tamed the Lion^s mood. 



294 BALLiDA FROM THB GERMAN. 

And the four forest cautons freed 
From thraldom by his blood. 

Bight where his chaige had made a lane. 
His yaliant comrades burst. 

With sword, and axe, and partisan. 
And hack, and stab, and thrust. 

The daunted Lion *gan to whine. 
And granted ground amain. 

The Mountain BuU* he bent his brows, 
And gored his sides again. 

Then lost was banner, spear, and shield, 

At Sempach in the fiight. 
The cloister vaults at Konigsfield 

Hold many an Austrian knight. 

It was the Archduke Leopold, 

So lordly would he ride, 
But he came against the Switzer churls. 

And they slew him in his pride. 

The heifer said unto the bull, 
« And shall I not complain ? 

There came a foreign nobleman 
To milk me on the plain. 

« One thrust of thine outrageous horn 
Has gaird the knight so sore, 

That to the churchyard he is borne 
To range our glens no more.' 



i» 



» A pun on the Ubus or, wild-bull, which gives name to the 
Canton of Uri. 



i 



BATTLE OF SBMPACH. 295 



An Austrian noble left the stour, 

And iast the flight 'gan take *, 
And he arrived in luckless hour 

At Sempach on the lake. 

He and his squire a fisher caird, 
(His name was Hans Von Rot,) 

** For love, or meed, or charity. 
Receive us in thy boat ! ** 

Their anxious call the fisher heard. 

And, glad the meed to win, 
His shallop to the shore he steer'd, 

And took the flyers in. 

And while against the tide and wind 

Hans stoutly row^d his way. 
The noble to his follower signed 

He should the boatman slay. 

The fisher's back was to them turned. 

The squire his dagger drew, 
Hans saw his shadow in the lake. 

The boat he overthrew. 

He 'whelmM the boat, and as they strove. 
He stunnM them with his oar, 

** Now, drink ye deep, my gentle sirs, 
You^ll ne'er stab boatman more. 

^ Two gilded fishes in the lake 

This morning have I caught. 
Their silver scales may much avail. 

Their carrion flesh is naught.'* 



296 BALLADS FBOM THB GUUf AN. 

It was a m^senger of woe 
Has sought the Austrian land : 

*^ Ah I gracious lady, evil news ! 
My lord lies on tiie strand. 

** At Sempacb, on the battle-field. 
His bloody corpse lies there/' — 

** Ah, gracious Grod ! ** the lady cried, 
** What tidings of despair ! 



M 



Now would you know the minstrel wight, 

Wlio sings of strife so stem, 
Albert the Souter is he bight, 

A burgher of Lucerne. 

A merry man was he, I wot. 

The night he made the lay. 
Returning from the bloody spot. 

Where God had judged the day. 



[ 297 ] 



THE NOBLE MORINGER, 

AW anchmt ballad. 

TBAmLATCD FBOM THB eSBMAN. 

[1819.1] 



Thb original of these yenes occurs in a collection of 
German popular songs, entitled, Sammlung Deutschen 
Volkslieder, Berlin, 1807, published bj Messrs. Bus- 
ching and Von der Hagen, both, and more especiaUj 
the last, distinguished for their acquaintance with the 
ancient popular poetry and legendary history of Ger- 
many. 

In the German Editor^s notice of the ballad, it is 
stated to have been extracted firom a manuscript Chro- 
nicle of Nicolaus Thomann, chaplain to Saint Leonard 
in Weisenhom, which bears the date 1533 ; and the 
song is stated by the author to have been generally 

1 [The translation of the Noble Moxinger appeared originally in 
the Edinburgh Annual Register for 18l«, (pmUhed in 1819.) It 
traa composed during Sir Walter Scott's seyere and alarming ill- 
ness of April 1819, and dictated, in the intenrals of exquisite pain, 
to his daughter Sophia, and his friend William Laidlaw.— Ed.") 

V 



298 



BALLADS FROM TH« GERMAN. 



muig in the neighbourhood at that cBxly penod. Tho- 

mafn, as qnoted by the German E<i^^ ^^o^^ 
fullTtohaTebelieyedtheeyenthenarrates^ He quotes 

tombstones and obituaries to prove the e^nce of the 
personages of the ballad, and discovers that th«e a^tu- 
STcU^ on the nth May 1349, a I^dy Von Neuffen, 
C<mntess of Marstetten, who wa^ by birth, of the house 

of Moringer. This lady he supposes to have been Mo- 
ringer's Siughter, mentioned in the baUad. He quotes 
ST same Tthority for the death of Berckhold Von 
Neiiffen, in the same year. The ^^^''''.^}'l7^,f^^ 
seem to embrace the opinion of Professor Smith of Ulm, 
who, from the language of the ballad, ascnbes lU date 
to the 16th century. 

The legend itself turns on an incident not peculiar to 
Germany, and which, perhaps, was not unlikely to hap- 
pen in more instances than one, when crusaders abode 
long in the Holy Land, and their disconsolate dames 
received no tidings of their fate. A story very simUar 
in circumstances, but without the miraculous machinery 
of Saint Thomas, is told of one of the ancient Lords of 
Haigh-hall in Lancashire, the patrimonial inheritance of 
the late Countess of Balcarias ; and the particulars are 
represented on stained glass upon a window in that an- 
cient manor-house.^ 

1 [See Introduction to " The Betrothed," WaveTley NoTeli, vol. 
xxxrii.] 



[ 299 ] 



THE NOBLE MORINGER. 



I. 

O, WILL you hear a knightly tale of old Bohemian day, 
It was the noble Moringer in wedlock bed he lay ; 
He halsed and kiss'd his dearest dame, that was as 

sweet as May, 
And said, " Now, lady of my heart, attend the words I 

say. 

II. 

" Tis I have vow'd a pilgrimage mito a distant shrine, 
And I must seek Saint Thomaft-land, and leave the land 

that's mine ; 
Here shalt thou dwell the while in state, so thou wilt 

pledge thy fay, 
That thou for my return wilt wait seven twelvemonths 

and a day.^ 



»i 



III. 

Then out and spoke that Lady bright, sore troubled in 

her cheer, 
** Now tell me true, thou noble knight, what order takest 

thou here : 



300 BALLADS FROM THE GSRM AN. 

And who shall lead thy vassal band, and hold thy lordlj 

sway. 
And be thy lady*8 guardian true when thou art far 

away?" 

IV. 

Out spoke the noble Moringer, ^ Of that have thou no 

care, 
There's many a valiant gentleman of me holds living 

fair; 
The trustiest shall rule my land, my vassals and my 

state, 
And be a guardian tried and true to thee, my lovely 

mate. 

V. 

*' As Christian-man, I needs must keep the vow which 

I have plight. 
When lam far in foreign land, remember thy true knight ; 
And cease, my dearest dame, to grieve, for vain were 

sorrow now. 

But grant thy Moringer his leave, since God hath heard 
his vow." 

VI. 

It was the noble Moringer fix)m bed he made him boune. 
And met him there his chamberlain, with ewer and with 
gown : 

He flung the mantle on his back, 'twas furr'd with mmi- 
vcr ■■■* 

^' ti^li """' ^ ""**' ~"' '^^ ^*^^ !>» fore- 



THE NOBLB MORINOER. 301 

VII. 

** Now hear,** he said, ^ Sir Chamberlain, true vaasal 

art thou mine, 
And such the trust that I repose in that proved worth 

of thine. 
For seven years shalt thou rule my towers, and lead my 

vassal train, 
And pledge thee for my Lady*8 fiuth till I return again." 

VIII. 

The Chamberlain was blunt and true, and sturdily said 
he, 

** Abide, my lord, and rule your own, and take this rede 
from me ; 

That woman^s faith*s a brittle trust— Seven twelve- 
months didst thou say ? 

Ill pledge me for no lady*6 truth beyond the seventh 
fair day.'* 

IX. 
The noble Baron tum*d him round, his heart was full 

of care, 
His gallant Esquire stood him nigh, he waa Mantetteii*b 

heir. 
To whom he spoke right anxiously, ** Thou trusty squire 

to me. 
Wilt thou receive this weighty trust when I am o*er the 

sea? 

X. 

^ To watch and ward my castle strong, and to protect 

my land. 
And to the hunting or the host to lead my vassal band ; 



302 JtALLAOR mOM THB GERMAN. 

Ajid pledge thee for mj Lady^s fidth, till seven long 

yean are gone. 
And guard her as Our Lady dear was guarded by Saint 

John." 

XI. 

Mantetten^s heir was kind and true, but fiery, hot, and 

young. 
And readily he answer made with too presumptuous 

tongue ; 
^ My noble lord, cast care away, and on yoiur journey 

wend, 
And trust this chaige to me untU your pilgrimage have 

end. 

XII. 
" Rely upon my plighted faith, which shall be truly 

tried. 
To guard your lands, and ward your towers, and with 

your vassals ride ; 
And for your lovely Lady^s £uth, so virtuous and so 

dear, 
I'll gage my head it knows no change, be absent thirty 

year." 

XIII. 
The noble Moringer took cheer when thus he heard him 

speak, 
And doubt forsook his troubled brow, and sorrow left 

his cheek ; 
A long adieu he bids to aU — hoist topsails, and away. 
And wanders in Saint Thomas-land seven twelvemonths 

and a day. 



THB NOBLE liORINOBR. 303 

XIV. 

It was the noble Moringer within an orchard slept, 
When on the Baron's slumbering sense a boding vision 
crept ; 

And whispered in his ear a voice, " Tis time, Sir Knight, 

to wake. 
Thy lady and thy heritage another master take. 

XV. • 

*' Thy tower another banner knowi, thy steeds another 

rein, 
And stoop them to another^s will thy gallant vassal 

train ; 
And she, the Lady of thy love, so faithful once and 

&,ir. 
This night within thy fiither's hall she weds Mazstetten's 

heir." 

XVI. 

It is the noble Moringer starts up and tears his beard, 
** Oh would that I had ne^er been bom ! what tidings 

have I heard ! 
To lose my lordship and my lands the less would be my 

care. 
But, God ! that e^er a squire untrue should wed my 

Lady fair. 

XVII. 

*' O good Saint Thomas, hear,** he pray*d, ^ my patron 

Saint art thou, 
A traitor robs me of my land even while I pay my vow ! 
My wife he brings to in&my that was so pure of name. 
And I am far in foreign land, and must endure the 

shame.** 



804 BALLADS FBOM THS OS1UiA.N. 

XVIII. 

It wu the good Saint Thomas, then, who heard his pil- 
grim^ prajer. 

And sent a sleep so deep and dead that it o^eipowerM 
his care; 

He waked in fiiir Bohemian hmd outstretched beside a 
rilU 

High on the right a castle stood, low on the left a mill. 

XIX. 

The Moringer he started up as one from spell unbound, 
And dixsy with surprise and joy gazed wildly all aroimd ; 
** I know my fother^s ancient towers, the mill, the stream 

I know. 
Now blessed be my patron Saint who cheered his pil- 

grim^s woe ! '* 

XX. 

He leant upon his pilgrim staff, and to the mill he drew. 
So altered was his goodly form that none their master 

knew; 
The Baron to the miller said, ** Good friend, for charity. 
Tell a poor pahner in your land what tidings may there 

be?" 

XXI. 

The miller answered him again, <* He knew of little 

news. 
Save that the Lady of the land did a new brid^;room 

choose; 
Her husband died in distant land, such is the constant 

word. 
His death sits heavy on our souls, he was a worthy 

Lord. 



THB NOBLX MOMNOBR. 805 

XXII. 

** Of him I held the iittie mill which wins me living free, 
God rest the Baron in bis grave, he still was kind to me ! 
And when Saint Martinis tide comes romid, and millers 

take their toll, 
The priest that prays for Moringer shall have both cope 

and stole.** 

XXIII. 

It was the noble Moringer to climb the hill began. 
And stood before the bolted gate a woe and weary man *, 
** Now help me, every saint in heaven that can compas- 
sion take, 
To gain the entrance of my hall this woful match to 
break." 

XXIV. 
His very knock it sounded sad, his call wafi sad and slow. 
For heart and head, and voice and hand, were heavy all 

with woe ; 
And to the warder thus he spoke : ** Friend, to thy 

Lady say, 
A pilgrim from Saint Thomas-land craves harbour for a 

day. 

XXV. 

^ I*ve wandered many a weary step, my strength is well- 
nigh done. 

And if she turn me from her gate 1*11 see no morrow*s 
sun; 

I pray, for sweet Saint Thomas* sake, a pi]giim*ii bed 
and dole. 

And for the sake of Moringer*8, her once-loved hiuband^s 
soul.** 

X 



306 BALLADS FROM THB GERMAN. 

XXVI. 

It was the stalwart warder then he came his dame before 
* A pilgrim, worn and tiavel-toil'd, stands at the caatle- 

door; 
And prays, for sweet Saint Thomas^ sake, for harbour 

and for dole. 
And for the sake of Moringer, thy noble husbands soul.** 

XXVII. 
The Lady^s gentle heart was moved, ^ Do up the gate,'* 

she said, 
** And bid the wanderer welcome be to banquet and to 

bed; 
And since he names my husband's name, so that he 

lists to stay. 
These towers shall be his harbourage a tweWemonth and 

a day/ 



»« 



XXVIII. 

It was the stalwart warder then undid the portal broad. 

It was the noble Moringer that o'er the threshold strode ; 

*' And have thou thanks, kind heaven," he said ^ though 
from a man of sin, 

That the true lord stands here once more his castle- 
gate within." 

XXIX> 
Then up the halls paced Moringer, his step was sad 
and slow ; 

It sat full heavy on his heart, none seem'd their Lord 
to know ; 

He sat him on a lowly bench, oppressed with woe and 

wrong. 
Short space he sat, but ne'er to him seem'd little space 

so long. 



THB NOBLK MORINGSR. 307 

XXX. 

Now spent was day, and feasting o*er, and come was 

evening hour. 
The time was nigh when new-made brides retire to 

nuptial bower ; 
*' Our castle^s wont," a bride»-man said, ** hath been 

both firm and long. 
No guest to harbour in our halls till he shall chant a 

song." 

XXXI. 

Then spoke the youthful bridegroom there as he sat by 

the bride, 
" My merry minstrel folk," quoth he, **]ay shalm an I 

harp aside ; 
Our pilgrim guest must sng a lay, the castle^s rule to hold. 
And well liis guerdon will I pay with garment and with 

gold.' 



»» 



XXXTI. 

" Chill flows the lay of frozen age," 'twas thus the pil- 
grim sung, 

^ Nor golden meed, nor garment gay, unlocks his 
hea>7 tongue ; 

Once did I sit, thou bridegroom gay, at board as rich as 
thine. 

And by my side as fiiar a bride with all her charms was 
mine. 

XXXIII. 

** But time traced furrows on my face, and I grew 

silvei^hair'd. 
For locks of brown, and cheeks of youth, she lefl this 

brow and beard ; 



308 BALL4D8 FROM THB GERMAN. 

Once rich, but now a palmer poor, I tread lifers latest 

stage, 
And mingle with your bridal mirth the lay of frozen 

age.' 

XXXIV. 

It wu the noble Lady there this wofol lay that heezs. 
And for the aged pilgrim's grief her eye was dimmM 

with tears ; 
She bade her gallant cupbearer a golden beaker take. 
And bear it to the palmer poor to quaff it for her sake. 

XXXV. 

It was the noble Moringer that dropp'd amid the wine 
A bridal ring of burning gold so costly and so fine : 
Now listen, gentles, to my song, it tells you but the 

sooth, 
Twas with that very ring of gold he pledged his bridal 

truth. 

XXXVI. 

Then to the cupbearer he said, *' Do me one kindly deed. 
And should my better days return, full rich shall be thy 

meed ; 
Bear back the golden cup again to yonder bride so gay. 
And crave her of her courtesy to pledge the palmer grey.'* 

XXXVII. 

The cupbearer was courtly bred, nor was the boon denied. 
The golden cup he took again, and bore it to the bride ; 
» Lady," he said, ^ your reverend guest sends this, and 

bids me pray, 
That, in thy noble courtesy, thou pledge the palmer 

gray." 



THB NOBLS MOKINGKR. 309 

XXXVIII. 

The ring hath caught the Lady's eye, ehe views it close 

and near. 
Then might you hear her shriek aloud, ^ the Moringer 

is here ! " 
Then might you see her start from seat, while tears in 

torrents fell. 
But whether *twa8 for joy or woe, the ladies best can tell. 

XXXIX. 

But loud she utter'd thanks to Heayen, and every 

saintly power, 
That had retumM the Moringer before the midnight 

hour; 
And loud she utterM vow on vow, that never was there 

bride. 
That had like her preserved her troth, or been so sorely 

tried. 

XL. 
**• Yes, here I claim the praise,^' she said, " to constant 

matrons due. 
Who keep the troth that they have plight, so steadfastly 

and true ; 
For count the term however you will, so that you count 

aright. 
Seven twelvemonths and a day are out when bells toll 

twelve to-night.' 



»» 



XLI. 

It was Marstetten then rose up, his felchion there he 

drew. 
He kneePd before the Moringer, and down his weapon 

threw, 



310 THS NOBLB MOUNOIR. 

** M J oath and knightly fiuth are broke," these were the 

woidB he said, 
** Then take, my liege, thy vassal'ii sword, and take thy 

vassal's head." 

XLII. 

The noble Moringer he smiled, and then aloud did say, 

" He gathers wisdom that hath roamed seven twelve- 
months and a day ; 

My daughter now hath fifteen yean, feme speaks her 
sweet and fair, 

I give her for the bride you lose, and name her for my 
heir. 

XLIII. 
" The young bridegroom hath youthful bride, the old 

bridegroom the old. 
Whose faith was kept till term and tide so punctually 

were told ; 
But blessings on the warder kind that oped my castle 

gate. 
For had I come at morrow tide, I came a day too late." 



THE XNO. 



KDINBUROH : 
PRINTED BY T. CONBTABI.R, 1, TKieTLB 8TRKBT.